


Michael in the Bathhouse

by Neapolitan



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Be More Chill Big Bang, F/F, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Slavery sort of, Spirited Away AU, background pinkberry and richjake, very subtle queerplatonic cinnabun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 12:20:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 37,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17867150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neapolitan/pseuds/Neapolitan
Summary: Michael didn't believe in the supernatural. Spirits, mystical creatures, ghosts; none of it was real. He was a man of facts, not fairytale. So when his family uproots his life and moves them halfway across New Jersey Michael fully expected it to be completely and utterly ordinary.Naturally, Michael stumbles upon the spirit world he doesn't believe in, his moms are turned into pigs for eating food, he's forced to sign a dubious work contract for an evil Keanu Reeves impersonator, and he falls in love with a boy who just so happens to be the moon.





	1. Act One - Stranded

**Author's Note:**

> GOD ive been working on this for SO LONG im hyped as Hell!!
> 
> Welcome to Michael in the Bathhouse, a fic for the BMC Big Bang written by yours truly with amazing, incredible, gorgeous art by snippetsofglitches! writing this has been an Adventure. ive spent many a sleepless night writing scenes and heavy morning deleting them to start again, its been a rollercoaster. id like to say a big thank you to Julia, the mod for the big bang who has been a wonderful organiser, everyone who participated in the event and once again to my awesome artist snippets
> 
> i hope you like it <3

Michael’s a reasonable person, not one to outwardly whine and complain about things out of his control, but this was getting ridiculous even for his own damn self.

Let's go through the list: His mom getting a promotion? Awesome! She worked really hard for it and she deserved the recognition! The aforementioned promotion forcing their whole family to uproot their lives and move towns? Slightly less awesome but not entirely horrible - a fresh new town meant a fresh new start and Michael could very much get behind that. His other mom being shit-terrible at directions and getting them wicked lost in the literal first 10 minutes upon arrival? Getting pretty irritating now since Michael had been sitting in that car for so long that even he wanted to go outside. His moms deciding that exploring the decrepit ruins of some spooky tunnel they stumbled upon would be a great, nice, sane idea? Yeah, okay, Michael's starting to draw the line in the sand now.

Michael loved his moms but holy shit he actually wanted to make it to his 18th birthday.

"Inay, I will pay you money to get your overzealous wife back into the car," Michael deadpanned as he watched his mom flitter down the darkened tunnel without caution, running her hands over the cement walls and commenting on the structure, the age, how strangely well-maintained it was, and all that other nonsense architects liked to talk about. "Please. I'm begging you."

The older Filipino woman only chuckled good-naturedly, winding her arm around Michael's waist to hug him as she watched her wife with almost palpable fondness. "Indulge your mother for a minute or two, chi-chi. Besides, it could be fun!" she chimed, her accent - still thick after all these years - giving her slightly clunky words an almost musical lilt.

"Or we could die tragically in this tunnel of certain death," Michael muttered, eyes flicking up to watch the roof warily as they moved to follow the enthusiastic woman further into the tunnel.

"Oh, don't be such… ah, "downer"? Is that right?"

"You got it, nay."

"Yes! Don't be that. This will be another Mell Adventure! Live a little!"

Michael shuddered as the building groans and creaks over the echoed chittering of his mom. His inay laughed again at his pained and very reasonable concern and proceeded to drag her son through the tunnel and out into a room on the other side that looked suspiciously like an old train station. Michael swore he heard a train whistle echo across the stained glass windows and eerily empty benches. He shifted closer to his inay.

"Over here!" Michael's crazy architect mother called from the archway on the other end of the hall, her frame bathed in the light spilling in from the exit. Michael would have been more relieved if he wasn't still thinking out having to walk back through that tunnel later to get to the car. His inay yanked him along, their footsteps bouncing around the empty room as they reached the other woman's side, looking out into a gorgeous field of rolling green hills and a cloudless sky.

The breeze swept across the grass - impossibly green and maintained despite this place being very abandoned. Rugged and weather torn houses were littered sparingly in the near distance, drawing attention to a little rock-filled stream a small ways ahead that seemed to separate the grassy plains from a set of large, concrete steps. Michael tried to follow the stream down but found that it disappeared out of eye-range, curving around the wide hill where the steps resided.

"Look, mi alma. This place is beautiful!" Michael's mom gushed, grabbing her wife's hand and bouncing excitedly. "We should've brought the food and had a little picnic here."

"There looks like there is more," Michael's inay says, motioning with their joined hands at the steps.

"Okay, no." Michael wriggled away from his inay and spun to address his parents, waving his arms in wide motions as he spoke. "We went through the spooky tunnel, traversed the equally spooky train station thingamajig. I'm not going to go poking and prodding at Scooby Doo's ghost town. Let's just go back and try to find the house that we bought with our hard-earned American money."

"Oh, c'mon. Where's your sense of adventure, regalo?" Michael's mom giggles fondly.

Michael shot his mother a deadpan stare. "Six feet under where it belongs."

"It's not very scary as you make it out to be, chi-chi. You are overthinking again," Michael’s inay says wisely, reaching up to pap Michael's cheek and pinch his nose fondly. "Come, sinta. We'll look at the " _ghost town_ " without the little baby."

"Well, that's just rude and uncalled for," Michael muttered, following his moms as they wander away from the building and towards the stream. Michael was reasonable, not really a complainer, but this place was really giving Michael the heebie-jeebies.

The stream was unsurprisingly mostly rocks and pebbles, with a tiny splash of fresh water trickling clumsily around the many obstacles in its path. Michael hopped across the rocks, bouncing on his heels as he waited for his mom to help his inay across. He took a deep breath to try and placate his frazzled nerves and— oh!

"Hey, do you smell that?" his mom asks, sniffing the air.

"Yeah," Michael answers absently, the cold coil in his gut tightening. "Weird."

"It's lovely," his inay comments, tugging on her wife's hand. "Let's find it!'

"Guys, I'm not sure if— _okay_ ." Michael sighs loudly, throwing his hands up in disbelief when his moms rush on ahead, stumbling and giggling up the concrete stairs as if they weren't middle-aged women with serious jobs and a house mortgage and an entire drawer dedicated to taxes. "When did _I_ become the parent in this family?"

Michael took his sweet time climbing the stairs, his aversion to gym class and his tendency to stay indoors at all hours of the day catching up to him. Michael huffed as he pulled himself up to the platform and his breath hitched at the sight of a little town, abandoned and empty but so eerie in its vacancy. The intoxicating smell wafted from between the tightly packed buildings, all of which seemed to be restaurants of some kind, and Michael's skin crawled for reasons he didn't wanna try and investigate. Michael's fingers itched to cling to the headphones that usually resided around his neck before he remembered that he left them in the car like a fucking idiot, shoving his hands into the pockets of his oversized red hoodie as he wandered uneasily into the little town? Market? Whatever. He was finding his parents and getting the fuck out of here.

The walls of the surrounding restaurants seemed to loom over him, sucking the air from his lungs and making every paranoid thought in the back of his mind itch. The streets appeared to narrow, walls closing in, and Michael felt a pit in his stomach that grew and grew the longer he wandered around. Where the fuck were his parents? They couldn't have gone far. Michael flipped the hood of his jacket over his head, trying to ignore the shifting shadows in his peripherals as he ascended more bullshit stairs and suddenly coming face-to-face with a giant, fuck-off palace looking thing.

The building towered, making the restaurants just behind Michael look like plastic monopoly houses in comparison, standing on what seemed like a steep cliff side connected together by an equally gigantic and ornate bridge. Lamps framed the railing of the bridge, shining gold in the setting sun, leading up to a small courtyard with cute flower bushes surrounding a set of heavy looking double doors. What unnerved out Michael the most was that this area seemed absolutely spotless, not a single sign of age or weather wear despite the architecture itself looking decades old. The wood of the bridge looked recently polished, the lamps shone, the bushes trimmed, the windows dust-free. Everything was clean and immaculate but in a very creepy, goosebumps novella kind of way.

A train whistle caught Michael's attention and he wandered over to one side of the bridge as his curiosity easily overpowered his self-preservation instincts. The drop was insanely far and somewhat intimidating. Michael suppressed his usual urge to fling himself off the side and scanned the bottom for the train, leaning forward and squinting behind his thick frames to try and peer across to the places he couldn't quite make out.

“What the hell are you doing here?!"

Michael almost actually flung himself off the side, jolting with a yelp and stumbling back at the sudden appearance of the frankly not very intimidating voice. After Michael's heart rate stabilised itself and the momentary panic faded away, anger and annoyance flooded his systems. Michael turned around, fast and aggressive, to face the idiot who decided to scream at someone while they're inches away from death.

"You fucking scared the shit out of—"

Oh.

"—mEe…"

Michael winced visibly at his horrendous voice crack but could anyone blame him? The boy who stood before him was _pretty_ . Around his age, long and lanky but still quite petite, perhaps even shorter than him. His dark honey hair fell in waves and curls that framed his pale face abundant with freckles and acne scars. His lips were soft and pink and Michael couldn’t help but focus on them momentarily before following the bridge of his nose up to his eyes. His _eyes_. They were a vivid blue-green and swam with colour, bursting with ice and ocean and sky all at once. He wasn't conventionally attractive but even so, he was quite possibly the most beautiful person Michael had ever seen and Michael really needed to reign in his fucking homosexuality before he says something stupid.

"You’re so pretty, how are you even real?" Like that.

Michael watched in mollification as the boys face flitted through several emotions like an old-fashioned slide projector. Shocked, confused, somewhat appraising, bashful, confused again, and then horror. "Wait, y-you… you're not supposed to be here. You need to go. Now!"

Michael stepped back as the boy marched forward, raising his arms in the universal sign of surrender. "Whoa, okay, I get it. I didn't wanna be here anyway, no offence to you or whatever. I just gotta find my moms and then I can—”

"Th-there's more of you?!" the boy shrieked. Michael stepped back a little faster now.

"Okaaay. There's an issue here that I'm not seeing."

The boy twitched and shivered, heaving in heavy breaths and running his shaking fingers through his hair. Michael was at a loss.

“Uh, hey,” Michael cooed soothingly, inching closer, his arms out placatingly. “Hey. It's okay. Just breathe, please. Can I touch you?”

The other boy nodded but then shook his head, raking his hands down his face and peeking through his fingers at the setting sun. He paled even further. Michael didn't think it was possible. “Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.” He leapt up, grabbing Michael by the arm and shoving him towards the stairs. “You need to go. Get to the other side of the river. Before the sun sets. Please.”

“Okay, whoa, hey!” Michael stumbled as he ripped his arm away from the others death grip. He stared and the other boy stared back at him. His eyes were wild, desperate, fearful, darting from him to the market below back to him and suddenly over his shoulder. He went rigid and Michael glanced around him to see the lanterns that framed the bridge and the building light up in sequence, sending a hazy golden glow that combated the light of the setting sun in an almost otherworldly fashion. Michael would have asked if he wasn't shoved so suddenly towards the stairs.

“You gotta go! I'll buy you some time, just get to the river!”

The urgency in his voice coupled by the eerie feeling the restaurant market was giving him - making the hairs on his neck stand up - gave Michael a pretty good incentive to get the fuck out of there. He glanced back just in time to see the wind pick up around the boy, enveloping him in what looked like tiny orbs of light that flickered like stars. The ends of his cardigan fly out behind him like a cape as he stood almost defiantly in front of the towering building and Michael watched him for a moment before rushing down the steps towards the market below.

“Mom! Inay! Where did you go?!”

Michael raced down an alleyway, skipping over half-steps and skidding around sharp turns. As the light of the sun grows dimmer, the lights of the market start to grow brighter, and as they do strange shapes start to materialise around him. Dark and translucent, shimmering like water in the lamplight. Michael starts, staring in shock at the shadows that suddenly took form in the counters of the shops, walking through the streets and waving their appendages over bowls of food as if warding off bugs.

Holy fuck. Jesus holy fuck, no way. No, no, no, no.

“MOM! NANAY!!”

Michael sprints, dodging shadow people as he does, screaming as he does. This was fucking crazy. He needed to find his moms, he needed to get them out of here. In the distance he sees a tuft of smooth black hair poking out from behind one of the restaurant counters and the relief is almost dizzying as Michael skid to a stop. “Inay! Oh my God, we need to go. This is insane. Where's mom? What's— why are you back there— OH MY GOD!” Michael scrambled back as the swine screeches, launching itself over the counter at him. It was wearing the clothes his inay had on that day: a pink blouse and a cream coloured blazer now stretched over the swines fat frame, the buttons near bursting. Another swine lay on the ground by a fallen tray of food, a soft green button down hanging thinly off its body. His mom’s shirt. His _moms._

Michael felt his lungs practically invert themselves in an effort to pull more air into his body, causing his chest to wheeze and rattle along to his hyperventilation. It couldn't be real. This couldn't be fucking real. Michael leapt away from the pigs' advancements, scrambling back to his feet and taking off like a shot towards the river from whence they came, hoping to God his moms would be waiting for him on the other side and this was all just some weird trip caused by some bad weed or something.

It was a flimsy attempt to rationalise everything. He hadn't even smoked today.

By the time Michael reached the stairs that lead back down to the field twilight had already passed, turning the skies darker and the lamp lights brighter. Michael practically launched himself down the steps, preparing to meet more rock as he lands only for his sneakers to collide with freezing cold water that seemed to pull him in further, sinking him until he was waist deep and struggling to claw his way back out. “What the fuck?” What happened to the river? Michael pulled himself back up, raising his head to stare out at the

sea.

The fucking sea.

_A mcfucking ocean._

The field was gone, no rolling hills, no breezy grass. Just water that stretched on for miles and miles, the twinkling reflections of a distant city dancing across the surface like strings of fairy lights. A ferry was pulling into a wharf a little to his left that Michael swore wasn't there before, the passengers that unloaded from the extravagantly decorated boat seemed to seep into existence as they set foot on shore.

Michael swallowed hard, the lump in his throat twisting and constricting his airways as the muscles worked to try and force it down again. A sick, sinking feeling settled deep in his stomach and he felt like he was seconds away from either crying or vomiting. He did neither. It still didn't help.

“Looks like I'm not in fucking Kansas anymore, Toto.”

* * *

Michael peeked around the corner for the 17th time and counting, shifting away when another shadow being floats a little too close to his hiding spot. He leaned against the wall, heaving in deep breaths as if he had run a marathon when in reality he was trying to hold himself together long enough to try and make heads or tails of his situation.

He recoiled further into the shadow cast by the side of the restaurant. He had decided pretty early on after he watched another fucking boat unload another set of freaky passengers with the steely gaze of a recently awoken coma patient, that if he was going to lose his fucking mind he’d very much rather do so somewhere where nothing could see him.

This was fucking insane. What was this place? Where were his moms? Who was that boy at the bridge? What was he so scared of? Michael rubbed at his arms, his body getting strangely colder the longer he stayed here, weak chills thrumming down his spine and along his arms leaving goosebumps scattered across his translucent skin.

Wait.

Fucking w a i t.

Michael ripped up his sleeves, watching his arms literally fading from existence with every passing breath. His fingertips were completely gone, as were the toes of his sneakers, the transparency climbing up his arms and legs like a wall of vines. What. The. Fuck. Michael scrambled to sit up, grabbing at his arms and torso as if he could hold himself there with force of will. “This isn't fucking happening,” Michael muttered into his palms, rocking back and forth as his ankles began to fade. “It's just a really fucked up dream.”

“Man, I wish.”

Usually, Michael would be unapologetic about his volume control, but he would later deny the screech that tore out of his throat as he scrambled away from the source of the voice.

The boy from the bridge stood awkwardly before him, rubbing his arm and shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other, bouncing on his heels in an action Michael would have found insanely adorable if he weren't losing his mind.

“It's you,” Michael gasped, almost reverently.

The boy lifted his hand and offered him a sheepish wave, keeping his elbow low and pressed against his side and shaking his hand side to side minutely like a shy high school girl. Michael caught a glimpse of something, a strange patch of raised skin encircling his wrist, peeking out from where the sleeve of his cardigan slides down.

“Hello. It's, um. It's me.” Now that he wasn't yelling and panicked Michael got to properly listen to his voice, so small and squeaky yet mellow and light at the same time. An odd contradiction.

The boy looked nervous as he fidgeted with something in his hand that Michael didn't bother to notice before. A green bottle tucked a little behind the folds of his cardigan that seemed to shimmer with something iridescent and aesthetically pleasing. He brought it up and rolled it against his palms for a moment before holding it out to Michael. “Y-you need to drink this. You'll fade away if you don't eat or drink something from his world.” When Michael only stared at the bottle blankly, the boy shook it a little, urgent. “Please. It won't do anything bad to you. Here, I-I'll even…” He trailed off as he unscrewed the lid and took a long sip of the shimmery green liquid, making a show of swallowing it.

“See,” the boy continued. “Totally safe. Now, please.”

Michael bit his lip and sighed, taking the drink from him and bringing it to his lips. The drink travelled down his throat like a trail of ice cubes, cool and soothing and strangely a little minty. He felt the effects immediately and when he looked down, he is no longer fading away.

“Thank you,” Michael breathed, staring at his now solid, real hands.

The boy reached over and retrieved the bottle, sliding it into his cardigan pocket. The entire bottle disappears completely into the opening with little to no resistance. It was somehow _not_ the weirdest thing Michael had seen that night. “I've, um… I've never actually seen a real live human here before,” he said almost absently, giving Michael a curious once-over. “A lot of the spirits here were once human but I- uh, I guess that doesn't count.”

“It sorta counts,” Michael replied, faux-casual while every synapse in his brain was firing off all of its denial circuits simultaneously.

The boy smiled sadly. “Not really.” He paused, wringing his hands a little and shifting his gaze around the sky. “You picked a good place to, uh, freak out. This is in their blind spot.”

“… Blind spot?”

He shook his head, sandy brown waves bouncing and weaving with the motion. “Later. We need to go. They'll be looking for you.” He turned to move away but stopped once more, turning back sheepishly. He stuck out his hand. “I'm Eremia, by the way.”

Eremia. Cute.

“Michael,” he answered with a laugh, shaking Eremia’s hand and pointedly ignoring the previous, vaguely threatening words. Eremia blushed, red and splotchy - adorable - and wrapped his fingers more securely around Michael’s hand, tugging him along. Michael let himself be led down the hill and around the back alleys of the square, hopping over gates and through small, unkempt gardens until they made it back to the bathhouse.

The bathhouse seemed to glow at night, the warmth of the lanterns somehow overpowered by the sapphire shine of the ornaments that adorned the building, giving it an electric blue feel. It made Michael excruciatingly uncomfortable and, by the looks of it, Eremia seemed unsettled by it too. Eremia tugged on his hand and motioned towards the bridge. It was filled almost flowing with spirits travelling to and from the bathhouse, being greeted merrily at the door by young women in pretty dresses made from a softly coloured material.

“Ugh. We’re gonna have to cross the bridge. Normally I go around, not really a big fan of crowds, but I don't think I can with you.”

“Isn't this place surrounded by, like, cliffs?” Michael asked, peeking over the gate to try a catch a glimpse of the drop off again. “How are you supposed to go around?”

Eremia shot him a playful smile and winked clumsily. “Trade secret.”

That was so painfully endearing. Be still Michael's heart.

“Don't freak out but. Um. I'm gonna put a spell on you.”

“ _And now you're mine_ \- wait, what?”

“Nothing bad!” Eremia exclaimed, wincing a little and glancing over his shoulder to see if he had caught anyone's attention. “Nothing bad, I promise,” he continued in a quieter tone. “Just a kind of cloaking spell. It’ll, like, block other people's… uh, eye nerves or something so they don't notice you. I've used it on myself enough times.”

Michael pursed his lips. “Okaaay. I'm trusting you with this. It's not permanent or anything?”

“Of course not. Here, take my hand.”

“You're already holding my hand, dude. We’ve been holding hands for the past 15 minutes.”

The splotchy blush that flooded Eremia’s face was incredible. “Oh. Uh. Never mind then.”

Eremia took a deep breath and gave Michael’s hand a squeeze. Michael didn't feel any different, but as they walked out onto the street Michael watched as everyone's eyes sort of gazed through him. Eremia swallowed and tugged Michael over to walk closer to him as they both stepped onto the bridge, weaving around the guests of the bathhouse carefully. Michael itched to pull his hood up but doesn't out of fear he'd bump into someone.

“Nearly there. You're doing great,” Eremia muttered soothingly to Michael, sensing his discomfort as they steadily approached the entrance way courtyard. Michael hunched his shoulders, focusing on the ground as he watched the wood of the bridge transition into gravel pathways and lush grass. Eremia breathed a sigh next to him. “Okay, okay, now we just gotta go—”

“There you are!”

Eremia flinched as one of the greeter women bounced towards him, waving happily, her smooth blonde hair spilling over her shoulders like spun gold. Michael moved back, hiding behind Eremia and giving in to his urge to pull his hood up to obscure his face. Eremia tittered nervously at the sudden attention. “Brooke! Hey, hi, hello! Uhm. Wha— uh, w-what did you need?”

“Boss’ looking for you,” Brooke chirped, a hint of concern staining her otherwise perfectly cheerful tone. “Something about a new task for— uh… for you.” Brooke trailed off, looking distracted as she glanced around Eremia. Both boys tensed up as Brooke made eye contact with Michael. Michael suddenly realised that both of his hands were free. “Who's this? He seems… the smell is… Eremia, is he—?”

Eremia quickly grabbed Michael's hand again and Brooke suddenly seemed to freeze. In fact, everyone seemed to freeze, cast in a warm white light that seemed to originate everywhere, faces turned up to the sky as if in a daze. “Sorry, Brooke,” Eremia said through gritted teeth, pulling at Michael’s hand. “Hurry. This way. I can't keep this up for long.

Eremia led him over to a small wooden door slightly obscured by the greeters, undoing the latch and ushering Michael inside. As they crawled in, Michael heard Eremia gasp and listened as everyone seemed to snap out of their daze, continuing on as if nothing had happened. The door brought them into a little garden off to the side of the bathhouse, a stone path leading off towards another wooden door surrounded by rose bushes of an array of colours. The sliding doors that led into the bathhouse were made of a patterned paper and allowed a golden glow to spill out across the garden, reflecting gently off the leaves. Eremia led him over to a small apple tree, huddling in the shade as they heard the room just beyond the sliding doors descend into chaos.

Eremia hummed uncomfortably, rubbing at his eyes. “I hate that spell.”

“What did you even do?” Michael panted, slightly out of breath. “That was some freaky shit. Awesome, but freaky ”

“Made everyone feel compelled to look at the moon,” Eremia explained, wringing his hands as he heard several people inside call his name urgently. “I meant it to just affect Brooke but I- uh. I panicked.”

“So you made everyone on the bridge look at the moon?”

Eremia scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “… everyone in the spirit world.”

Michael felt his breath practically fall out of his mouth. “Jesus.”

“Shut up! My aim’s bad when I'm nervous! I overshot!”

“I'll say.”

Eremia shoved him a little but Michael caught a glimpse of his shy smile before he turned away. Michael felt unusually accomplished at the sight of it.

There was a clutter and another shout from the bathhouse. Eremia chewed on his lip as he watched the shadows of another group of workers rush through the room, calling for him. He sighed. “Well, if they didn't know you were here before they definitely know you're here now.”

Michael looked down shamefully. “I’m sorry. I think I let go of your hand to put my hood up.”

Eremia turned quickly, taking both of Michael's hands into his own seemingly compulsively. Michael glanced up at Eremia, back down at their conjoined hands, and turned red. “You did fine, Michael,” Eremia soothes, smiling gently. Michael could die. “Besides, I think I lost concentration after Brooke started talking to me so.” Eremia shrugged, patting Michael's hands. “Now, I need you to listen. I'm going to go inside in a bit and distract them. After I go, wait a little bit and then go through the back door.” Eremia gestured to the door the stone path led to.

“Take the stairs all the way down until you get to a big metal door. That’ll take you to the boiler room. You'll find this short, human torch looking guy, Rich Goranski. When you find him, ask him for a job. He’ll say anything to get you to leave but keep asking until he complies. If you don't work, Squip’ll turn you into an animal.”

Michael’s brain struggled to comprehend everything as reality. Holy fuck, what has he gotten himself into? Boiler room? Human Torch? Animal?!?!

“Wait, what about my moms? Where are they? Are they okay?”

Eremia nodded. “They're fine. I saw to that myself.”

“Are they…” Michael faltered, his mind flashing back to the swine wearing his parent's clothes. “Are they really pigs now? Are they gonna be like that forever?”

Eremia’s expression softened and he shook his head, rubbing comforting circles into his skin. “They are pigs, but not forever. There's a way to break the spell, we just have to beat Squip at their own game. But later. For now, we gotta move.”

He moved to stand but Michael held his grip tight, keeping him seated. Eremia looked over in confusion and Michael gave into his spontaneity, pulling Eremia into a quick, encouraging hug. He really looked like he needed one and honestly, so did Michael after the shit he'd been through already. “Good luck,” Michael breathed, drawing back and letting go of Eremia completely.

Eremia blinked. “I… uh… u-um, thank you. Y-you t-t-too. Um. Bye!” He scrambled up, pushing himself towards the door and tumbling into the room. “H-hey, I'm— uh, here. What’s the problem?”

Michael waited in the shadows for a while until he was sure that no one else was coming. Sighing, he shuffled on over towards the back door Eremia has pointed it, unlatching the lock and swinging it open slowly, peeking through.

It was a fucking nightmare. The stairs were situated over open air, hugging the wall. There was no railing, no _floor,_ just a thousand metre drop and the whistling of the wind as it whirled through the giant gap that separated the bathhouse from the market. Looking down, Michael found that the sea stretched on here as well, filling the space below with rippling ocean water that glistened like saltwater diamonds. Michael was decidedly not at all comforted by this. He chanced a glance down the steps and found that the bottom of the stairs was so far fucking down that Michael could only really make out the dim light above the metal door Eremia had told him about.

Michael swallowed roughly. This was the worst fucking day of his life.

* * *

When Michael was 4 he was afraid of stairs. They had lived in an old two story house with stairs going up to the second floor that creaked and groaned and screeched with every tiny step he took. 4-year-old Michael did not trust those stairs one bit. 4-year-old Michael trusted those stairs so little that he begged mama to carry him up every night when it was bedtime, refusing to climb them himself. He’d explained his distrust to nanay and she giggled as she ran the silver comb through his hair, a nightly ritual.

“Chi-chi, it is alright to be scared but you must be brave,” she had cooed in Tagalog, tying Michael’s hair back so he wouldn't be disturbed by it in his sleep. “Fight back. Face your fear.”

His mama said the same thing the next day, albeit in English. It annoyed 4-year-old Michael enough to stomp his tiny feet angrily against each step as he climbed the stairs spitefully. They creaked and chittered at him but Michael refused to be swayed, right up until his socked feet slipped against a particularly rickety step and he went tumbling backwards onto the floor.

Surprisingly, the bump on his head and the pain in his elbow didn't deter Michael from the steps but only made him angrier, and in turn, determined.

This was personal, this meant war.

He battled with the stairs for 3 unbroken months, armed with a tin foil sword and a cardboard helmet, until he got bored of it as most 4-year-olds eventually do. By the time Michael turned 5, mama had called a man to fix the rickety stairs so that they wouldn't rattle anymore, making the vendetta null and void.

They moved out of that house a year later, into the house they lived in for many years until his mom’s promotion. It too had stairs, but Michael didn't really think about his toddler war anymore. Not until his inay brings it up teasingly, calling him the Stair Warrior and other embarrassing nicknames. Still, Michael Mell was very much over his silly childhood fear of stairs and the only discomfort he feels around them is the wave of exhaustion he feels right before climbing a set of them, the ghost of what's to come.

But as Michael huffed a sigh and looked down at the remaining stairs, the wind picking up and pushing his body forward, he felt the old phobia rearing its ugly head yet again.

Michael crawled down each step, fighting off the urge to vomit with every dangerous noise it made. He was almost halfway down, the halfway point a walled-off ledge that petered off into sturdier, cement steps leading down to the last door. Michael swallowed thickly and leaned his body down, stretching out a leg to catch the bottom of the next wooden step that he would lower himself on. He heard it creak and groan in protest and Michael vowed that he'd finally stick to that diet regime he'd been ignoring for 3 years now as he eased his weight onto the step.

The mere pitch of the scream he made when the step gave way and flung him down at breakneck speed was a touch lower than a dog whistle. His momentum built, sending him flying towards the ledge and flailing his arms like a bird with clipped wings in a storm, screaming shrilly the whole way down until he gracefully collided with a mercifully placed wall. Michael narrowly avoided breaking his nose by instead almost breaking both his wrists. He breathed heavily, fighting the urge to just roll over and fucking die. If this Squip dude didn't kill him then his very foreseeable heart attack will.

The cement steps were much easier to manage and infinitely less life-threatening, a breath of fresh mountain air after Michael had been sucking in the fumes of an exhaust pipe. Michael leapt off the last few steps, turning swiftly and totally not stumbling on his own two feet to flip the offending stairs the double bird before marching towards the door and definitely opening it easily and on the first try.

Michael was instantly met with heat. The boilers that lined the walls hissed and spat, steaming rising in a consistent swirl that reminded Michael of the steady smoke trail that accompanied a well-rolled joint. He rolled the sleeves of his hoodie up, feeling sweat already accumulate on his forehead and neck as he ventured deeper into the room. He eventually found the heart of the boiler room, hidden amongst the winding pipes and metal structures that kept everything upright.

The atrium was a large, open-roofed room, circular in shape. The bare gravel floor giving way to a raised platform on the other end of the room made of smooth, shiny redwood. A large glass vase sat proudly atop the structure, filled with an array of pretty white flowers that were all strangely healthy and well maintained for being trapped in a burning hot room with a fuck-off fire not four steps away. Michael found the whole thing out of place but didn't pause to think on it. He wasn't here to critique the guy's decor, after all.

The walls were lined with cupboards and drawers, some filled to overflowing with strange herbs in odd colours and textures. To his left, a monstrous oven that burnt white hot and filled with coal, the flames dancing menacingly across the soot and charred wood. Michael bit his lip and looked around, not really seeing anyone that fit Eremia’s description of this Rich Goranski dude. He didn't see anyone, really, just an open, empty room with a roaring and dangerously unattended fire. He was about to leave to see if he could find another room where this dude could be when something dropped from the sky. A rectangular red wooden token with painted symbols Michael didn't recognise hanging off a sleek purple ribbon in front of the platform, the shine from the lacquer glinting expectantly in the light.

The fire roared, a chunk of flames rising out from the rest and dumping itself lazily on the gravel. Michael watched in fear and amazement as the flames rose up and reshaped itself to reveal—

A dude. A tank top wearing, kinda ripped, pretty fucking short dude. He was stocky with reasonably impressive muscles and spiked blonde hair with a tuft of flaming red that actually looked to be real flames flickering in time with the fluttering of the furnace. He looked normal enough except for the fact that he was partially on fire - the burn marks that marred his arms, shoulders and face perpetually licked by the very flames he had been conjured from.

He stretched and swore, his back popping as he rose into the air on feet made of fire to inspect the wooden token absently as if he didn't give a shit. He sighed, floated to the cupboards and began rummaging through them, grabbing an assortment of large, colourful seeds and straw that shimmered pink and orange. He floated back to the platform and dumped them into a stone mortar Michael hadn't noticed before, zipping back to the shelves to grab more. Michael watched him work, fast and efficient as he used trails of fire to dump shiny sugar cubes and pulsating bay leaves into the concoction, clicking his fingers to erupt the mortar into flames. It was as much methodical as it was chaotic.

“H-hello?” Michael ventured cautiously, not knowing what this guy's reaction was going to be.

When who Michael assumed was Rich Goranski made eye contact with him he expected some surprise, maybe distrust or panic seeing as he was human, but he got none of that. Instead, Assumed Rich gave him a once-over, shrugged, and continued to work, throwing more holographic leaves into the mortar before grabbing a pestle and stabbing carelessly at the mixture, crushing it into a paste.

Michael narrowed his eyes. “Uh… I'm here to—”

“Hush up, buttercup. Gotta finish this shit first,” Assumed Rich piped, waving Michael off like an impatient secretary. Michael's mouth shut with an audible click, incredulous.

Assumed Rich finished mixing the substance and began to scrap it off into something Michael couldn't see, tapping the pestle to get rid of the excess. He reached up and pulled on the wooden token twice - a clear, cute ringing noise sounding off as he did so - and the token whizzed back up to whence it came.

Michael bounced on his heels and stuck the tip of his tongue out, indulging his bored habit as he glanced around the room like a vacant visitor in a stranger's home. Assumed Rich set the pestle down and stretched his arms up, relishing in the pops and cracks that rang through the open room. He turned to Michael and regarded him lazily, moving his hands in a sweeping presentation gesture. “Alrighty. Continue.”

“O… kay? Um… I'm here to—”

“ _Waitwaitwait_ , dude. Lemme guess this. They never let me.” Assumed Rich clapped his hands, amused and clearly not taking anything seriously as he leaned back in his seat. Even his voice was reminiscent of a crackling fire, his S’s hissing like a freshly doused flame. “Botched burial?”

Michael blinked, confused. “…no.”

“Coma?”

“I- no, I'm ju—”

“Tragic and violent murder?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Assumed Rich grinned cockily. “I don't get out much. Seriously, though, is it a coma? They're always fun.”

“No! I'm not comatose or dead or whatever, I—!”

“Now, that can't be right,” Assumed Rich interrupted, his expression falling into something stonier. “See, humans don't just turn up in the spirit world unless they're either in their graves or have got at least one foot in.”

Michael bit his lip. “Unless they found this creepy as hell market behind an equally creepy as hell abandoned train station after getting lost in their most likely creepy as hell new town?”

Assumed Rich let out a large breath, looking at Michael with an expression caught between disbelief and pity. “Yikes. You've done fucked up, amigo.”

“I gathered that, yeah.”

“I'm assuming someone directed you to me? Not a lot of people come looking for ol’ Rich Goranski: Boiler Room Bitch on a whim, y’know?”

So he _was_ Rich. “Uh, yeah. This guy, Eremia, he found me pretty early on. Helped me out.”

Confirmed Rich immediately straightened up, alert, and chuckled fondly, shaking his head. “Of course it was him. God, he's such a soft lil lizard boy.”

Michael chewed on the corner of his bottom lip. “You know him?”

“Oh, yeah! Me and Mi-Mi go _way_ back.” Rich conjured up a ball of fire in his palms and tossed it around casually like a ball before throwing it perfectly into the open maw of the furnace with a whispered “ _Kobe_ ”. “If he's sent you to me it must be important. So spill it, sister. Richie-boy’s got ya.”

Michael scrunched up his nose in distaste. “Don't call me that. And— uh. I'm here for a job.”

Rich recoiled at that, looking bewildered. “A job? There ain't no jobs here. I don't have anything even resembling employment down this area. I'd look somewhere else, my guy.”

“What? But Eremia said you'd have something for me!”

“Eremia’s an idiot twink who hasn't been down here in weeks, dude. He wouldn't know if I had jobs open or not.”

“He told me you'd say anything to turn me away.”

Rich clicked his tongue and wiped the sweat from his forehead - which was odd considering how he was made of fire and also not sweating. “Did he now? Well… isn't he just so smart.”

Michael quirked up an eyebrow. “So? Can I work here?”

Rich groaned and dragged his hands through his hair, tilting his head back as his groan transitioned gradually into a yell. Michael blew out his cheeks, refusing to be amused by the others melodrama since, y'know, his life was literally at stake.

“My dude, my guy… what’s your name again?”

“Michael.”

“Miiiiiikey-wikey, I really wanna help you, really I do, but I can't! I don't have the authority to give you work, I'm literally a fucking stove.”

Michael’s heart sank to his knees. “Then why would Eremia direct me to you if you can't get me a job?”

Rich sighed, scrubbing his face. “I dunno. Maybe because—” He stopped suddenly, his face lighting up in an epiphany. “Because I know someone who can.”

Before Michael could open his mouth to ask, the door on the other side of the room slammed open. Michael jumped, suppressing his urge to scream, and took a few skittering steps back as a woman with curly brown hair and a dangerous aura came stalking through. The cute pink apron and the tray of food did not deter from her overall look. She was fierce with eyes full of fire and eyeliner so sharp it could probably cut a man. Michael was instantly scared of her.

“Richard fucking Goranski, how many fucking times have I told you to leave your tray out so I don't have to crawl into this miserable place again, you mediocre candle wick.”

“I wuv you, Chlo-bo!” Rich sung, leaning over the pedestal to flutter his eyelashes at her. Chloe plucked a fork up from the tray and threw it at him. He caught it easily by the handle.

“I'll kill you one day,” Chloe glowered without any real heat, setting the tray next to the mortar and unloading the meal. Michael shuffled a little into the shadow cast by the pedestal, shrinking in on himself when Chloe’s eyes swept the room and locked onto his gaze. The Kill Bill siren blared in Michael’s mind.

“It's you! The human everyone's looking for!” Chloe thundered, pointing at Michael so intently it was as if he had committed a murder right in front of her.

“He's my cousin,” Rich chirped casually around his mouthful of buttered bread roll.

Chloe’s eyes snapped towards Rich like an armed laser. Michael felt his soul exit his body. “What?”

“Yeah,” Rich continued, picking at his chicken. “My boy Michael’s here to find work but I haven't got any jobs for him down here.”

Chloe narrowed her eyes. “Your cover story is weak as shit. You guys don't even look related.”

“Distant, then.” Rich waved her off, not even looking at her. Michael hypothesised that the tactical aversion was necessary for his survival. “So, will you help? You do owe me a favour.”

“Fuck off, no way! If they find out I'm harbouring a human I'm as good as fucked! I'll be cleaning the big tub for _weeks_!”

Rich hummed negatively and turned away, picking up his cup of water and holding it aloft like a whiskey glass. “Hmm. Alright, I suppose. Eremia will be _so upset_ when he finds out.”

Chloe’s expression instantly softened at the mention of Eremia. The change it made to her overall attitude was incredible. “Eremia knows about this?”

“Knows? The kid fucking _brought_ him here.” Rich leaned dangerously over the edge of the pedestal, weaving an arm around Michael’s shoulders before immediately retracting it, brushing at the newly singed parts of his hoodie with a quiet apology. “He’s gotta be something special if Eremia’s going against Squip’s orders to protect him.”

Chloe turned her gaze back to him, eyeing him critically. Michael tried to make himself seem as helpless and non-threatening as possible. It wasn't hard. Chloe pursed her lips, narrowed her eyes, and sighed heavily after what felt like years of scrutiny. “Fine, I guess. If it's so important to him I'll do it.”

Rich clapped his hands jovially, like a kindergarten kid during playtime. “Yay! You're alright, Chloe. I'll be sure to tell _Brooke_ you're being nice to people.”

This time Chloe blushed, turning to Rich with a murderous expression. “You wanna step outside this room and tell her then? Oh, wait.”

“Wow, way to rub my slavery in my face, Valentine,” Rich scoffed, his tone not changing from the teasing waver though something shifted in his posture. Michael didn't have time to stick around and ask why.

Chloe had grabbed Michael’s arm with her perfectly manicured hands - Michael didn't doubt that she probably killed a man with those hands - and dragged him towards the door, scooping up the abandoned tray of dirty dishes as she went. Michael stumbled, waving at Rich gratefully. He caught a glimpse of Rich cheerfully shooting him finger guns before the door closed shut behind him like the lid of a fucking coffin.

* * *

Michael’s stumbling did not deter Chloe from manhandling him up a flight of steep stairs, all but shoving him into an elevator and pulling the lever that sent them shooting up deeper into the bathhouse.

His relief was short lived. Chloe adjusted her hold, balancing the dishes in one hand perfectly. She turned to eye Michael again. Michael instinctively flinched. “Listen, kid,” she bit out, her tone stony. “If it were up to me you'd be turned into a chicken and thrown in with the rest.” Michael gulped. “But, regrettably,” Chloe continued, tone softening. “Eremia likes you for whatever reason. And I'm pretty sure this whole damn establishment took an oath to keep that kid happy. You got lucky this time but know that if you fuck with him I won't be so generous. Got it, Mitchell?”

Michael nodded frantically. He briefly contemplated correcting her on his name but decided that his life was slightly more valuable than a few misplaced letters. The elevator stopped, Chloe promptly leading Michael out the doors and into a twisting hallway. She shoved him against a wall and motioned for him to wait, turning a heel and disappearing through a set of large, metallic doors. He heaved a sigh of relief, leaning his head against the wall. This day kept getting weirder and weirder, and with the weirdness came the soul-crushing danger of it all. What was he supposed to fucking do now? What did Eremia mean when he said they had to beat Squip at their own game? Who even _was_ Squip? Who was Eremia?

The whole bathhouse working in tandem just to keep one boy happy? Just how important was Eremia around here? Everyone he'd met so far seemed to have an instinctual protective default when it came to him if Brooke’s concern and Chloe’s threats were anything to go by. Michael whined, pressing the heel of his palm to his forehead. The amount of energy that was going straight towards postponing his panic attack was exhausting, this entire god-awful ordeal was giving him a headache.

Chloe burst back into the hallway like a broken dam, sweeping Michael back up in her wrath. She tugged his arm roughly, leading him through a maze of hallways and backrooms littered with roll-out futons and small tables until they came to a stop at a set of imposing doors. Chloe took a breath, adjusting her apron and fixing her hair absently before turning to Michael and roughly pulling his hood over his head. Michael bit back a yelp. “Don't say a word,” Chloe warned, turning back to the door. “If anyone catches on to the fact that you're a human before we get to Squip’s office we’re both dead.”

Michael felt a sudden panic course through his bloodstream for the nth time in 3 hours. “I-I—! Wait, wait, I thought we were _avoiding_ Squip! Because they want to _kill_ me!”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “Squip’s got this weird thing. If they catch you on their own you're fucked, but if you get to them first and ask for a job they're obligated to do so. A curse for them but a blessing for you. Eremia and Rich handed you over to me because I’m their inside guy and I know everything. Now, _shut up and do as I say._ ”

Chloe squared her shoulders and pushed the heavy doors open, letting them swing grandly on silent hinges. Michael winced in discomfort at the sudden change in lighting and blinked against the onslaught of blinding white and gold.

When his eyes adjusted, he was met with the bathhouse in all its glory. He and Chloe stood on a bridge-like catwalk that ran from one end of the room to the other, giving him a perfect view of the steaming baths below, some filled to the brim with spirits and spectres of all shapes and sizes, relaxing after a long day in the mortal realm. The bathhouse was decorated with beautiful Japanese tapestries, intricately painted ceramics, and bonsai plants, giving the place a regal yet homely feel that mixed in well with the golden lights and constant bustle. All sorts of scents wafted through the air; floral and spicy and numbing. Michael felt himself relax against his will, nerves that were on fire mere seconds ago doused and docile.

Chloe tugged on his arm, shattering the mood. “C’mon, idiot. You can bask in the fruit of our labours when you die and cross the river as an actual spirit, not a mortal abomination.” Michael swallowed roughly at the implications of that sentence but stayed obediently silent as Chloe led him down the catwalk and towards a set of elevators.

“Chloe! Wait up!”

Michael jolted in alarm at the new voice, flinching as Chloe hauled him around to stand behind her, out of sight and hidden in the crowd by the elevators. A man, almost freakishly tall might he add, came bounding towards them, his arm raised in greeting. He was handsome, from what Michael could see, with perfectly quaffed hair, shining eyes and unblemished skin. He gave off a cool air. Literally. The tips of his hair were covered in a delicate layer of frost and his skin had an icy sheen to it. Cold smoke wafted from his frame, pooling silkily across the floor in a constant fog.

Chloe’s body language shifted into something subtly friendlier while still somehow maintaining an air of aloof superiority. “Jake. Back again? You're, like, 3 more days off from becoming a nightly regular.”

Jake rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, I guess. I just… I dunno.”

Chloe arched her eyebrow knowingly. “Did you need something?”

“Uh, did Rich get the...?” Jake made a vague gesture in the air between them.

“Yeah, he got them. Y’know, I'm getting kinda tired of being the middleman in this fucked up relationship.” Chloe waved off Jake’s flustered spluttering, putting a hand on her hip. “But I get it. It's hard for you guys. Don't say I never do shit for you two.” She reached a hand into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a shiny, opalescent stone that flashed an array of soft colours in the golden light. “I couldn't find you last night. Rich says thanks for the flowers.” She tossed the stone to an awestruck Jake, who cradled the gift gently in his fingertips as if he were afraid it would shatter.

“Thanks, Chlo. I owe you one.”

Chloe scoffed. “You owe me 12. And you can start paying me back by wiping that pathetic look off your face and letting me get back to work.”

Jake laughed, sliding the stone into his jacket pocket. “Sure, Chloe. Say hi to Brooke for me.”

“Whatever.” Chloe pushed Michael backwards towards the elevators.

Slipping in behind a gaggle of ghostly women, the elevator took them further up into a hallway full of guest rooms. Chloe pulled the lever again once the women had departed, leaving them alone in the lift.

“Squip will probably try to trick or threaten you into leaving or making a deal with them,” Chloe said suddenly, taking advantage of the security of the elevator. Michael peeked up at her from under his hood. “Don't agree to anything until they bring out the contract. Only the contract can guarantee your safety.”

The elevator slowed to a stop at a dead silent floor, lit dimly in comparison to all the other floors. Michael let out a nervous breath.

“The contract is enchanted so no one can lie on it,” Chloe continued, showing no sign of leaving the elevator. This was the end of the road for her. “Don't try to outsmart them. They'll turn you into an animal for sure. Just be forceful, stay calm, don't get killed.”

“Thanks,” Michael mumbled, chewing nervously on his bottom lip.

Chloe gave him a stern look. “I mean it. Don't die. It'll break Eremia’s heart.” Chloe huffed a little, puffing out her cheeks. “And I hate to say it but you seem like a good kid. Be smart. See you whenever.”

The elevator doors shut, leaving Michael alone in the dimly lit hallway. Michael took a step, his sneakers squeaking loudly against pristine marble floors. He was gonna lose his mind. His heart was racing so fast he thought he was gonna die before he even got to Squip’s office. Maybe he'd just stand right there forever before Squip could even try to kill him. Weighing out all his options, one path leading him to certain death and another leading towards indefinable slavery, it seemed like a pretty good fucking plan to him.

(But then again if he stood here forever eventually he'd starve to death and be trapped here anyway and _then_ who was gonna save his moms and bring them back to their new house and say “I told you so” because they didn't ask for directions at the gas station like he _told them to_ )

_Fuck._

Michael steeled his nerves and made his way into the abyss, walking on his tiptoes so his sneakers wouldn't squeak so loud and freak him the fuck out.

There was a door at the end of the hall, tall and imposing with an honest to god door knocker like a goddamn Beverly Hills mansion sat innocently on either side of the tiny gap that separated a closed door from an open one. Michael tugged at the hood still obscuring his head, pulling the edges close to his mouth so he could chew on it in distress. He needed to calm the fuck down. He couldn't afford to shut down now. Go inside, get Squip to give him a contract, sign it in a way that might cheat the system because the day Michael willingly signs his ass up for slavery is the day he fucking hangs himself, get out, lie down in a ditch and cry forever. Good plan. Sane plan.

He's so fucked.

The doorknob was freezing to the touch as Michael struggled to pry the doors open. They swung heavily but silently, not a single creak, squeak or scrape. The unnatural silence unnerved Michael more than anything. He slipped through the door and found himself in a circular, high ceiling room that was strangely almost exactly what Michael was expecting. The room was sparse, with only a plush blue rug and gentle curtains to give it any sort of softness, jutting angles and seemingly calculated furniture placements. Everything in that room felt cold, impersonal, empty. Like no one really lived here but was simply occupying space. Clean white walls, a table here, a chair there, a few filing cabinets, pictures on the wall that looked honest to god blank. The only thing that even remotely stood out was the dark wood desk on the opposite end of the room, covered with 2 neatly stacked piles of paper and perfectly straight pens, a single desk light illuminating a contained area on the surface like a spotlight. The plush black chair was facing away from him, overlooking the large window that spilt moonlight reflected off the ocean waters across the room. The whole scene looked like a villain reveal and Michael was gearing up for the chair to swivel around and for Squip to be sitting there, legs crossed, petting an evil looking cat and smirking.

Michael wasn't prepared for the tap on his shoulder. He was so unprepared for it he nearly flung himself onto the floor with how violently he flinched. Who he assumed to be Squip stood directly behind him. They were tall, their very presence nerve-wracking, and as imposing as the office door and the bathhouse itself; wearing a perfectly fitted blue suit, clean and pressed. Their expression was completely blank, not a single emotion or even an inkling of humanity on their sharp, creepily perfect features. Though something did stand out strongly to Michael.

“You look like Keanu Reeves,” Michael blurted out like a complete fucking idiot.

Squip barely reacted outside of an exhausted sigh and a vaguely irritated expression. “You two were made for each other.” They crossed their arms impatiently, staring down at Michael with distaste. “You're blocking the door.”

Michael quickly sidestepped, letting Squip step into their office. They walked gracefully, long confident strides towards the desk, every step with purpose. They settled in the chair with little fanfare, turning their attention to Michael with a laser focus. Michael faltered at the intensity of their gaze.

“So you're the human that's been sniffing around my establishment. I expected a little more than… well, _you_.”

Michael was too scared and confused to be offended by that. “You know about me?”

Squip scoffed. “I know everything that happens here. I know Eremia brought you to the bathhouse. I know Rich and Chloe helped you here. I know that you intend to sign a contract with me in order to ensure your safety.”

“I- uh… you're not wrong.”

“I’m never wrong.” Squip delicately slid a sheet of paper from the top of the smallest pile and began filling it out, bored. “And what makes you think I’ll just _give_ you a job?”

Michael fidgeted with the drawstrings of his hoodie, unsure of what to say. Squip continued to fill out what he assumed to be paperwork. The silence was killing him. “Uhm, because you have to?”

Squip stopped abruptly, the scratch of the pen ceasing with a jagged sound. Michael’s breath seized in his throat, his heart pounding. Squip set the pen down in a motion that looked like they were shutting the lid of a coffin. They might as well be. “Listen to me, you wretched, pitiful child,” Squip growled, their face set in a stone of indifference while their voice bled with venom. “I don't have to do _anything_ for the likes of _you_ . You waltz into _my_ world, eat _my_ food, conspire with _my_ workers. The only contract you’ll be getting out of me is a _death certificate_.” Michael subconsciously took a few giant steps back but refused to break Squips gaze. Their eyes instantly turned mocking at the subtle show of fear. “What animal do you think would suit you best, hmm? Maybe a nice little pig like your mothers? Or maybe a pathetic little fish so I can watch you drown on dry land?”

“The rules state,” Michael began, pausing a little to heave in big breaths so that he wouldn't hyperventilate and faint. That would look really bad on the attempted confidence front. “The rules state you have to give a job to anyone who asks. _Anyone._ I'm here, you didn't catch me before I got to you, I'm asking.” Michael paused again, taking in the flicker of indignation on Squip’s face. He mustered a fake smirk. It was a risky move but he didn't have many cards left. “I do wonder, though, what happens if you don't abide by those rules. I'd _love_ to see the results.”

Squip slammed their palms against the desk, standing up in one swift, furious motion, papers jostled and flying away from their previously perfect form. It took all of Michael’s willpower to stay stationary. Squip balled their hands into fists, shaking with rage, and then all at once it was gone. Squip straightened up, adjusted their suit and smoothed out their hair, their face perfectly blank. The sight of that, the abruptness of the change, sent Michael reeling with internal panic. Squip took a visible breath - it struck Michael suddenly that he hadn't seen Squip breath once since they entered the room - and whistled.

Eremia raced forward, bowing at the waist in front of Squip’s desk. Michael blinked. When did he get here? “You called, boss?” Eremia said quietly, head still bowed to avoid Squip’s blank stare.

“Fetch the contract from the second drawer,” they said in an uncaring fashion, flicking a lazy finger over at the filing cabinets. “And give it to him.”

Eremia nodded, walking towards the filing cabinets without a word. The way he walked was odd, not the scuttling and shuffling Michael had witnessed while he was with him. Straight strides with purpose, almost mirroring the perfect gait Squip had, though with some visible flaws. His back was curved downward, arms drawn into his chest as if he were trying to hide from Squip. Michael catalogued this for later analysis. _God_ , he sounded like a nerd.

Eremia plucked a long roll of paper from the drawers and drew back towards Michael. His eyes lit up a little and he offered Michael a shy smile, handing him the contract and a pen that looked like it was worth more than Michael’s entire life.

“Write your full name on the dotted line,” Squip remarked, turning back to their paperwork, before pausing and snapping their fingers impatiently. Eremia seemed to jolt, rushing back to stand beside Squip’s desk, head bowed. Michael felt his stomach churn uncomfortably at how easily Squip controlled him.

“You're… not gonna watch me sign it?”

“I don't even have to look at it.” Squip sounded cocky, not even bothering to look up at Michael when they spoke. “You cannot lie on it, there’s no reason for me to check. Hurry up and sign it so you can get out of my office.”

Michael walked over to a small desk and leaned against it, biting his lip as he mulled over his limited options. The letters and symbols that made up the contract were written in a whole other language that Michael couldn’t understand, so it was already bullshit unfair from the start. He put the pen against the paper with all intentions to write a fake name but found himself completely unable to do so. He definitely couldn't lie about who he was, then. Michael scratched at his jaw, uncomfortable. He couldn't find any way around the contract, and he didn't want to just hand his entire life over to this asshole. God, this was going to shit. His moms were doomed, he was willingly signing his life away, his ribs hurt like a motherfucker from all that bullshit running while he’s still wearing his—

Wait.

It was risky and he didn’t want to do it at all but it was all he had and he was running out of time. Michael leaned over the paper so that Squip couldn't get a good look at it and carefully wrote out a name that he hadn't used in a very long time and hoped he never would.

The words glared up at him and he felt a sickening mix of relief and resentment wash over him, tearing at his gut. He swallowed it down and schooled his expression back to neutral. He'd deal with that later.

Michael quickly rolled up the paper and stood, brandishing it at Squip in determination. Squip barely bats an eyelash as they cleared their throat and Eremia jolted into action, taking the contract from Michael with a quick and subtle wink. Michael forced down a blush.

“What’s your name again, kid?” Squip pretty much demanded through the air of false politeness.

“Michael. Mell.”

“Hmm. From now on your new name is Hael. Answer me, Hael.”

The Squip’s tone was smug and expectant, as they thought they had already won. Michael felt like the notion should stay that way for now. “Yes, boss.”

Squip smiled. It was a horrible sight. “Good. Eremia.” Eremia flinched, shutting the file cabinet a little harder than necessary. “Take Hael down to the workers quarters and settle him in. He starts work tomorrow.”

Eremia bowed. “Of course.”

Eremia’s expression was frozen at a careful blank, right up until the elevator doors closed and he burst like a firework. “You did it!” he cheered happily, flapping his hands and bouncing on his heels. He looked so happy, so relieved. It was a good look on him. Michael felt his face grow hot. “I knew you would!”

“Well, I mean, I did _some_ of it.” Michael rubbed at the back of his neck bashfully. “I only survived by doing what everyone told me to do. If it weren't for you and Rich and Chloe I'd probably be dead.”

“Give yourself some credit, you stood up to Squip! That takes a lot of courage.”

“Or a ton of stupidity.”

Eremia stuck his tongue out playfully. Michael responded in kind, giggling.

“Okay, so what’s the plan from here?” Michael asked once the laughter had died down. “How do we beat Squip?”

“Let me worry about that,” Eremia answered, picking at the cuffs of his sleeve. “Just lie low for now. Don't do anything to attract attention. Keep yourself safe.”

“There's gotta be something I can do? I'm not letting you deal with my mistake by yourself.”

Eremia chewed on his lip quietly for a moment, looking down and wringing his hands. “Meet me at the bridge at dawn tomorrow. I wanna show you something.”

Michael breathed a sigh. It was better than nothing. “Okay.” He ran a stressed hand through his hair, ruffling it. Eremia ducked his head, nervously tucking a lock of his own hair behind his ear. Michael swallowed. “Okay.”


	2. Act Two - Cursed

Michael was given his own tiny little room in the workers quarters. It was barely a broom closet, with a small futon, a little table and a wall closet, but it gave him some much-appreciated privacy.

The workers were quite vocal in their disagreement at Michael's employment, claiming that he was a stupid, smelly human that didn't belong in their world. Admittedly, they were right about 2 things - he did indeed not belong here and he did do a lot of running today. The only person that seemed to be happy about his employment was Chloe, who shot him a discrete wink as she left to grab him a set of work clothes.

He really did like the privacy, not actually giving a shit about the opinions of the other workers. Because now he could sit and cry in peace without fear of anyone coming in to judge him.

Michael wiped at his tears with the edges of his shirt, peeling his binder off his chest so that he could poke miserably at his ribs. He pulled the shirt back on, stashing the binder out of sight under his futon before curling up on his mattress. Once he had changed into his new clothes, per Chloe’s insistence, he’d found the clothes that he'd previously worn had been taken away. Another worker had explained, unsympathetically, that they had no use for mortal clothing and had them thrown out. It left Michael feeling lost and uncomfortable, not used to being without the security of his precious red hoodie. He wondered briefly what else this world was going to take from him.

This fucking sucked. He felt all sorts of bad, a sick feeling curling in his stomach and making goosebumps rise on his skin. The thought of having to sign himself away with that  _ other name _ brought upon an unease that trumped over being trapped in any weird spirit realm. His guilt also came with a sense of relief that his plan had kind of worked. Only time could tell how effective his little bait-and-switch would be but for now the relief was overwhelming, which had only served to make him feel even worse.

All he had wanted was a smooth moving day followed up by a new school where no one knew him and he could just breeze on by until he graduated and he'd never have to think about it ever again for as long as he lived. He can't fucking have everything, he guessed. Jesus Christ.

He unfurled, laying flat on his back as he listened to the outside noises lessen and settle as the sun began to rise, the workers readying themselves to retire to bed. “It’s better for us,” Chloe had explained when questioned, hastily shoving Michael's new clothes into his hands. “The day was made for the living, so we work during the night. Kind of vampiric but that's just how it is. Better get used to it, Hael.”

Michael had frowned at that. He got that Squip gave him a new name and all but he didn’t expect people to start using it straight away. Chloe (kind of) knew what his name was. He didn’t get why she changed how she addressed him. And in any case, how did she even know that he’d gotten a new name? Michael was quick to chalk it up to more freaky, invasive magicks. God, this sucked.

The tiny window was just big enough for Michael to watch the sky lighten, casting morning shadows across the room. He crawled towards it, not bothering to stand as he lifted himself up by the arms to rest against the windowsill. The ocean was expansive, stretching on as far as the eye could see and further still. It was eerily still, the glassy surface reflecting the sky with mirror-like quality. If Michael concentrated, he could almost see the image of a town reflected below its surface, picking out images of passing cars and trees and people before he realised he was looking into the human world, his world. The pictures moved and rippled like a projector screen, shifting from one location to the next. Michael spotted his new house amongst the trees, a cute little thing with white walls and a blue roof. It was two storeys. Michael suddenly felt melancholic, sliding away from the window.

Michael rolled onto his stomach and stretched, clambering up. He looked down at himself and frowned, pursing his lips at his chest before crawling back down to grab his binder again. He'll be alright for a few more minutes, he assured himself.

Navigating the bathhouse alone was tricky. Using what he remembered from the past few hours he had managed to stumble his way to the main foyer and it took him half an hour to find the right door and the right hallway to get to the sliding doors that led to the small side garden from that night.

The bathhouse looked different in the morning light, emptier but not in an abandoned way. It looked more like the house of a family that went away for the weekend, alive and longing, itching to be bustling with people again. Even the bridge seemed different, still and patient as if quietly waiting. The contradiction was unsettling and left a funny taste in his mouth.

He spotted Eremia almost immediately, standing at the other end of the bridge. He looked about the same as he did that night, if not a little stiller. The sun washed him out a little, giving his already pale skin a translucent glow. It reminded him of the moon's reflection in the sky during the day. “Hey,” he called carefully, keeping his voice soft as to not startle the other boy.

Eremia jumped regardless. “Hi,” he answered shyly. “Come with me, I’ll take you to your moms.” His voice was quieter than before - tinged with a slightly sleepy quality - and Michael was reminded that these people are primarily nocturnal. Eremia held out his hand nervously and Michael took it without hesitation, relishing in the slight smile he received upon doing so.

Eremia led him away from the bridge and around the vacant restaurants, back around a grassy plain that led to a farmhouse that sat warmly on a hill overlooking the ocean. They moved away from the farmhouse and towards a barn hidden in the shadows of tall flower bushes that wound around the barn like a maze, forcing Eremia to guide Michael through the brush, never once letting go of his hand.

The barn was cute, leagues more comforting than the entire bathhouse, but the squealing of the livestock really took points off. Eremia led him into the pens where the pigs were kept, squealing and snorting and eating away at any scrap of food they could see. Eremia let go of Michael’s hand, twisting his own fingers around nervously. “Your, uh, moms are over there.” He pointed at a pair of swine huddled in a corner together on a bed of straw, snoozing peacefully. Michael huffed out a weak laugh, half choked on repressed tears. Even as mindless animals they were still together. “I made sure they were safe.”

Michael's breath felt like it was punched out of him, not once taking his eyes away from his parents. “Thank you.”

“Don’t,” Eremia muttered, a bitter tone colouring his soft voice. Michael didn’t stop to wonder about it as he shuffled closer to his pig moms and crouched down in front of them. He squeezes a hand through the wooden bars and laid a trembling hand on one of their snouts. His mom (whichever one she was) snorted and shifted away from the touch. Michael choked helplessly. “I’m sorry, mama, nanay. I’m so sorry this happened to you. But I’ll fix it. I swear to God I’m gonna fix it.”

He stood up, barely bothering to brush the hay that clung to his pants. “Take care of each other. I’ll come back for you, I promise.”

He left without another word, listening as Eremia murmured something into the air before following him outside.

Michael sat in a heap by a hedge wall, fiddling with a small budding flower that grew amongst the leaves. He plucked it from its perch, twisting it with his fingertips as he bit back a sob. For the millionth time in a few hours, Michael wished he was literally anywhere but here. His old town, his old school. Hell, he’d settle on sitting a room surrounded by everyone who ever hated him for the rest of his life than stay in this nightmare for one more second.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Eremia carefully crouch next to him, his expression pensive and worried. “Are you alright?”

Michael sniffed. “No.”

Eremia shifted uncomfortably at the short answer. “Umm, well—”

“This fucking  _ sucks _ , dude! My moms are pigs because they, like, ate food or something, I sold my soul to a Keanu Reeves impersonator, and who fucking knows what the goddamn movers are doing to our house right now! Y’know, I never trusted movers but mom was like, “oh we paid good money for them to do a good job have some faith” but y’all fucking  _ know  _ they’re gonna put a dent on my bedroom door because I didn’t talk to them that one time and apparently that’s  _ rude  _ to adults. I had my headphones in! I could barely hear them! But no, they gotta talk about how  _ rude  _ the Mell’s son is. Fuck off, man, I’m 17.”

Eremia stared silently as Michael caught his breath after his TedTalk. He hummed. “That was… a lot to unpack.”

Michael sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I just… I ramble when I’m frustrated.” He paused, listening to his stomach growl with mild embarrassment. “And hungry apparently. Shit, when was the last time I ate?”

“Oh, I can help with that,” Eremia announced proudly, happy that he could be useful. He reached into the pockets of his cardigan and paused, observing Michael carefully. “What’s your favourite food?”

Michael didn’t even have to think. “Tempura shrimp sushi rolls and cherry slushies from Sev Elev.”

Eremia made a face, scrunching up his nose. Michael felt like he could die. “I don’t know what “Sev Elev” is but lucky for you, even the spirit world has slushie machines.” He drew his hand out of his pocket and set a cup of red slush onto the grass by Michael’s hand followed by a small container which presumably held the aforementioned sushi rolls inside.

Michael blinked, astounded, carefully picking up the slushie cup and taking a tentative sip from the straw. Cold, artificial cherries hit his tongue and he grew even more amazed. “So can you, like, just make anything you want?” he asked, popping open the sushi container.

Eremia shook his head and sat down properly next to Michael, crossing his legs like a child on the floor of a classroom. “I reach into other places and take stuff from there, kinda like object teleportation,” he explained shortly, so casually as if he were talking about the fucking weather.

“Jesus Christ, how powerful  _ are _ you?”

Eremia blushed. “I’m not actually that powerful. I’m only an apprentice.”

“Are you kidding me?” Michael exclaimed around a mouthful of sushi, the exclamation coming out more as  _ “arb oo kickin bme?”.  _ Michael swallowed before continuing. “The stuff you can do is so cool! What else can you do? Can you fly?”

“Not in this form but I can, yes.”

Michael’s eyes widened. “You have multiple forms?”

Eremia placed a finger to his lips, smiling conspiratorially. “It’s a secret.”

“Holy shit!”

Michael watched as Eremia giggled, shifting his hand up to cover a growing smile. “It’s not terribly impressive. Squip can do so much more than I can ever dream of.”

“Is that why you’re working for them? To learn?”

Eremia fidgeted again. “Kind of.” He shrugged, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “It’s... been a really long time. I can’t remember why I originally came to work for Squip.”

Michael frowned sympathetically. “Sucks, man. Squip sorta strikes me as a huge asshole. I mean, they whistled for you like a dog. That doesn’t seem like a very healthy employment.”

Eremia's fidgeting grew a touch more frantic as he seemed to carefully consider Michael before opening his mouth of answer. “I’m c—” He coughed and quickly covered his mouth, interrupting his own sentence. “I-I mean, made the same deal everyone else at the bathhouse did, the same deal you did. Not much any of us can do about it.”

“I dunno. You could quit?”

He laughed, loud and sudden and a touch bit hysterical. “Quit? From the bathhouse? Gods, I needed that laugh.”

Michael flushed crimson, embarrassed. “I dunno, dude, I’m not privy to the magical politics here.”

“You don’t have to be a magical girl to get that Squip won’t let any of us go just like that, Hael.”

Fucking hell with this shit again. "Et tu, Brute?" This was really starting to bother Michael. What the fuck happened in the last hour that every fucking one forgot his name? "I don't get it. My name's  _ Michael _ . I know Squip gave me that new name and bullshit but I didn't expect everyone to start calling me that straight away.”

He blinked rapidly in confusion. "I–… wait, you remember your name?"

Michael almost threw his hands up in frustration. "Of course I remember my name! It's been my name since the day I was fucking born!" Technically true. He had his name legally changed on his birthday.

Eremia looked startled, his fingers ceasing in their unconscious action of pulling at the grass. He frowned, absently running a hand through his hair to smooth it back, a nervous habit if Michael ever saw one. This boy sure did have a lot of nervous ticks. "That's… it's unusual, is all. Names are powerful in this world. It's how Squip gets to you; they take your name and give you a new one so you can't leave or break the contract. It's old magic, not easily undone. You… you must be pretty special to shake it off so easily and without you even knowing."

Michael glanced away, bashful and skittish. At least he knew his shitty plan worked. Kind of. "Or I'm just lucky," he mumbled instead, offhandedly. He leaned back on his arms, looking up at the sky. The leaves on the hedge behind him danced in the breeze, occasionally blowing little petals or pollen into the air. It was quite serene despite the fact. "Do they do that for everyone? Take their names and shit?"

"Oh no," Eremia answered, plucking a few leaves from the hedge and letting the wind carry them into the sky. "Only for the ones they really want to control. Which… so far has only been me and you."

"Wait. Eremia isn't your real name?"

Michael wished he could eat those words the minute he said them. Eremia's face fell, lowering back to the ground as he tucked his legs up to his chest, resting his chin on his knees. It was all the answer Michael needed. He wanted to kick himself for being so stupid.

"…I'm sorry."

Eremia took a breath and shook his head, a look of contemplation replacing the melancholy. "It kinda bothers me, y'know? When everyone calls me Eremia instead of… whatever my name really is. It sounds wrong, disjointed. Like it doesn't belong in association to me. I don't mind it as much when you say it. But it's just… it's incomplete, y'know?"

Michael swallowed roughly. "I could… call you something else? Like a nickname." Eremia turned to him, blinking in that adorably cute way he does. Michael jittered his leg, nervous. "I mean, if you want," he mumbled sheepishly, tearing his eyes away from the otherworldly boy.

"I'd like that, actually," Eremia breathed, his voice small and delicate as if to not ruin the moment.

Michael licked his lips, nervous beyond belief for no good-ass reason. "Um… okay. Uh. Eremia… Er-eh-miiiiii-ya… Mia… Mia?"

Eremia scrunched up his nose again. "I don't think so. Besides, I feel like that bit is supposed to be pronounced differently. Like… my-ah. Or something."

"Hey, that's cute. My-ah. Miah!"

"Miah… that sounds right," Eremia said, testing the nickname on his tongue. He shot Michael a shy smile, a blush tinting his face. "I like it."

"Okay. Miah, then. Miah." God, Michael was gonna die of cute. He couldn't fucking handle this shit.

They sat quietly for a while, Michael chewing on the last bits of sushi as he absently scanned the scenery around him. If he ignored the looming vision of the bathhouse in the distance he could almost pretend that he was on just a regular farm. A regular farm with chickens and cows and pigs that definitely weren't any of his parents. Pretend he was sitting with a cute boy who wasn't a presumably powerful spirit who could probably kick his ass and barely lift a finger doing so. Michael took a grounding gulp of his slushie and tried not to think about how that was kind of hot.

"It's kind of weird," Ere— Miah blurts suddenly, shocking Michael out of his flustered musings. Fuck, was one of his spooky powers mind-reading too? Jesus fuck, let him die.

"Wha- uh, what is?"

Miah waved his hand, gesturing in casual confusion as if Michael wasn't about to have a heart attack and die right then and there. "You seem familiar. Not in the way that we've already met but like we were supposed to meet. Does that make sense at all?"

"A little." A lot. A whole fucking lot. Michael looked at Miah and felt a tidal wave of completion, a cosmic force washing over him that seemed to scream "finally" with every bursting atom. He didn't know the what or the why but it wasn't a bad feeling so Michael let himself relish quietly in the idea of being completed, of being a part of something bigger and better than his tiny, insignificant life.

“Oh, by the way,” Miah startled Michael out of his deep cosmic contemplations, reaching back into his cardigan pocket and pulling out a folded lump of red fabric, handing it over to Michael.

He recognised it immediately. “My hoodie!” He lifted it up and let it unfurl, letting his gaze wander from patch to patch. “How—?”

“I have magical teleporting pockets, remember?” Miah giggled. “Keep it somewhere safe, Michael. You’ll need it for when you get out of here. And you will get out of here, okay?”

“Okay.”

The wind rustled the branches, making Michael shiver. Miah leaned back and whispered something into the air. Flecks of blue light fluttered out of the depths of the hedge, swirling delicately in the breeze that grew a little warmer the longer the lights danced between them. The cold morning sun rose silently, refracting off the beads of dew that dotted the rolling grass below. Miah had his eyes closed, his face lifted towards the sun and let it cast a soft golden glow across his skin that melded with the blue light of the spell. Michael hugged his hoodie to his chest and watched him, content.

* * *

Michael was slowly getting used to the work. Very,  _ very _ slowly. Since Chloe was assigned to teach him the trade and that terrifying woman could make people feel inadequate without saying a single word, progress was a steep slope. He was mostly stuck on cleaning and fetching duty, staying away from the customers lest they catch a whiff of his human scent. He still didn’t understand how that worked but he pretty much chalked everything up to weird magic nowadays. The self-lighting lanterns? Weird magic. The way the bathhouse works? Weird magic. Miah’s entire existence? Weird fucking magic.

Michael grabbed a bucket of dirty water and carried it out towards the back garden to tip it out. One of his cleaning duties seemed to always be carrying shit and tipping shit out, the mundane stuff no one else wanted to do. It was easy enough so Michael didn't complain, and he reckons if he did complain he'd be ripped apart so for the most part he kept his mouth shut.

Sliding the door to the back garden open, he tipped the bucket over onto the grass already wet from the rain that had been pouring heavily all day. The rain made the workday slow with minimal new customers walking through the grand doorway, so the day was mostly dedicated to cleaning the floors and scrubbing the baths, two things that were coincidentally _ also _ always on Michael's ever-growing chore list. Who woulda goddamn thunk it?

A movement caught Michael's eye as he tipped the remaining water out, glancing up to see a dark figure obscured by the rain standing a little ways off from the door. Michael squinted but couldn't make out any discernible features, just a shadowy blob standing silently in the garden shivering and shimmering in the rain that seemed to pour right through it.

“Umm, hello? Are you a customer?” No response. Michael frowned. “This is the back garden, you're not supposed to be out here. Did you get lost?”

Nothing.

Michael bit his lip. If this was a customer he couldn't just leave him? Her? It? Whatever. He couldn't leave a customer out in the rain like this. Shit’s bad for business and Squip would probably cut his hands off if he fucked up like that. Also, he just felt bad. Just because he's in a shitty situation doesn't mean he can be shitty to other… well, not  _ people _ but like, to others. His mothers raised him right.

Making a quick decision, he backed away from the door, tucking the bucket comfortably under his arm. “I'll, uh, leave the door open for you if you wanna… get out of the rain.”

He bowed to the customer as he had been taught to do out of polite courtesy, and rushed away to continue the rest of his chores. He didn't look back to see if the shadow blob came inside or not but he hoped they did. The rain in this world was far colder than it is in the mortal realm.

Michael heard his “name” along with Chloe's being called by the foreman, who hated him from the start and always gave him the worst jobs. Michael groaned inwardly but made his way to the foreman's pedestal, bucket still tucked under an arm. He had a feeling it was going to come in handy.

Chloe was already yelling when he got there. “You can't just put two people on the big tub! That's frog work!”

The foreman, who resembled a toad in a very literal and physical sense with facial features Michael had elected to ignore for the sake of his own sanity, glowered. The expression was pointedly not directed at Chloe, Michael noticed, but to him instead. Michael internal screaming grew a decibel louder. “Squips orders. Hael gets the big tub, and since you're graciously mentoring the human you also get the big tub. I don't make the rules.”

“Like hell you don't,” Chloe glowered right back, matching the foreman by tone. A clear challenge.

The foreman dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief. “Listen, I don’t have the time nor the mental strength to deal with either of you. If you have a problem, talk to Squip.” He threw a toad-ish thumb over to the side where Squip stood in the shadows of a doorway, out of customer sight but just visible to them. They seemed to be using the fucking Force to strangle some poor unfortunate employee, one hand clenched tightly in the air parallel to the employee's exposed neck.

“Yeah, hard pass,” Michael mumbled as the three of them watched the employee struggle in midair like a live fish strung up on a line. It was difficult to watch. “I've already got the bucket, anyway. It can't be that bad.”

It was horrible.

The tub looked like it hadn't been cleaned in years, the scum dripping from its smooth walls so thick it almost formed its own fucking ecosystem. Michael braved a hand across the disgusting surface to properly gauge just how fucked he was. His palm came back green and brown and he shuddered so violently a thousand generations of his descendants could probably feel it.

Chloe slammed her bucket of soapy water violently onto the dipped floor of the bath causing some of it to slosh out and splash the slimy surface below it. Michael watched in morbid fascination as previously white suds almost immediately turned a sicky brown-yellow from such minimal contact. Chloe made a noise of disgust and tossed a thick bristled brush at Michael who fumbled to catch it. “Get scrubbing, Hael. The sooner we get started the sooner I can slit the foreman's throat in his sleep for making me do this.”

Michael barely bit back a terrified  _ “yes ma'am” _ before he dunked the brush into his own soapy concoction and scrubbed it ruthlessly against the walls.

The first 1125 strokes did absolutely nothing but the 1126th was where the money was at. Chloe glowered the whole way through. “The big tubs reserved for our filthiest guest. It's almost a punishment to be assigned scrub work for it.”

Michael chewed on his lip in contemplation. “So is this a punishment?”

“What do you think? God, this is clearly workplace harassment.” Chloe threw her brush to the ground at the sound of a gong, signalling that a new batch of guests were arriving. “Hael, go fetch a herbal tag from that bastard foreman. If we can't scrub this muck in time for guests we'll just cover it up instead.”

Michael sighed. “The foreman fucking hates me, Chloe. He won't give me shit.”

“Well, tell him we have a customer or something, get creative.” She picked up her brush from the shallow waters that pooled around their ankles and threw it at Michael, forcing him to flinch back against the tub to avoid its path. “Get going, kid.”

“Mm not a kid,” Michael mumbled but climbed out of the tub obediently, sliding down the edge of the tub to the freshly polished hardwood floor and out into the hallway.

The bathhouse was alight with movement and sound as workers bustled from room to room, ensuring that every nook and cranny of the place was clean from the gaps in the floorboards to the corners of the ceiling as well as leading guests to their requested rooms or baths. He passed by a multitude of tub rooms, each little sector manned by either a guy in an identical uniform to his, a woman wearing a loose kimono, or a frog-like creature in a strange looking coat that fanned across the floor like a cape. Michael wondered where he could get one his size, they were pretty rad. He peeked into a tub room as he passed by, blinking at the multitude of giant yellow spirits that resembled baby chicks in every way piled into a bath together, packed so tightly the water was spilling out of the tub, soaking in the steam that smelt strongly of wild berries and cinnamon. Michael backed away from the bizarre sight but decided that he wasn’t about to lose sleep over it. He had a funny feeling that he was gonna see weirder tonight.

A woman with long blonde hair and a huge broom 3 times her size went sprinting past him at top speed, shouting at another woman who had entered the elevator that ran up to the top floor. He vaguely recognised her - Brooke he thinks is her name - and watched as she clambered into the elevator, gesturing frantically at the other woman whose eyes widened as the doors slid shut.

Huh. Wonder what that was all about.

Michael hummed noncommittally to himself and turned a sharp corner, narrowing avoiding slamming head-first into a toad carrying the biggest plate of steaming leg ham he’d ever fucking seen. Michael’s stomach growled and he remembered that he hadn’t been fed yet. He didn’t even know where they kept the food for the workers. He whined a little to himself and made a mental note to ask Chloe about it when they were done with the tub.

The bath reception area was rectangular in shape and decorated sparingly but still somehow tasteful, with Japanese tapestries and flowers painted onto the walls that boxed the area. Sitting at the very front of the reception area was the foreman’s podium, the first thing anyone would see upon stepping into the room. High risen and open, the podium held in its interior buckets of wooden red tags used to signal Rich as to what type of bath was required in any such area. The foreman sat proudly in the middle of it all, greeting guests systematically and handing out tags to workers. Michael approached with the expectation of getting fuck all from the creepily toad-like foreman.

Michael’s a _ fucking psychic _ . He should have his own goddamn TV show.

“Herbal? Absolutely not, that's much too valuable to waste on  _ you _ ,” the foreman sneered down at him. It did not suit his toad face.

Michael grit his teeth. “ _ I'm _ not the one taking the bath, it's for a customer.”

“Then bring the customer over here so I can see them with my own two eyes. Then we'll talk tags. Now shoo, your stench is bad for business.”

Michael growled, clenching his fists as we watched the foreman hand tags out like candy to every other fucking worker in the bathhouse, not bothering to ask  _ them _ why. Fucking hell, he’d  _ told _ Chloe the foreman had it out for him. Turning away, he prepared to stomp back over to the big tub when he spotted the shadowy figure from the back garden standing still and silent just behind the foreman's podium.

In the light of the bathhouse he could make out a face - a white round mask - that covered a large portion of its upper body, displaying a set of eyes with long purple decals above and below that stretched away from them, and a small mouth to complete the face. He still found it difficult to see, the figure shimmering and shaking in the light like a mirage. He bowed in acknowledgement either way, watching the foreman in his peripherals eye him suspiciously.

“What are you gawking at, kid?”

“I-I'm not a— I was just— whoa!”

A single bright red tag rose in the air, twisting in hands that no one could see. The foreman spluttered and lunged for the tag, missing by a hair's breadth as the tag sailed through the air and into Michael's hands. He jolted, staring in amazement at the painted wood in his palm before glancing back up, noticing suddenly that the shadowy figure had disappeared. “Thank you!” he exclaimed anyway, bowing more to the air beside the foreman than to the foreman himself before turning on his heels and dashing off, electing to ignore the angry shouts of the foreman behind him.

“Shit, Hael, you got a fancy one,” Chloe remarks when he hands her the tag. “You rob the foreman or something?”

Michael paused for a moment and shrugged. “Kinda?”

“Good. Serves him right.”

She pried a section of the wall open to reveal a little cupboard that held a suspended purple ribbon with a silver clip on the end. She attached the tag to the clip, tugging on it once to ensure that it’d stay and gave it a tight pull, watching it soar up and out of sight. Seconds later Michael heard a creak and a subtle snap from above, looking up to see a bamboo pipe detach from itself from the wall, lowering down to point its open end directly at the tub.

Chloe pointed out a loop of rope that dangled from the pipe. “Pull that once for water. When the baths full, pull it again to stop the water. I’ll get us some food, we've fucking earned it.”

Michael waved his thanks to Chloe who marched from the room like a woman on a mission. He didn't doubt that she was also on her way to commit psychological warfare on the foreman on her way to the kitchens. Turning back to the pipe, Michael carefully climbed to the edge of the tub, sparing a disdainful glance at the grimy surface before reaching up and yanking the rope firmly.

Hot water gushed from the pipe instantly, lapping against the walls of the tub. It was a murky tea green and shimmered with tendrils of pastel technicolour, miasmas of light reds and purples and blues that rippled in the waves like coloured ink floating in water. Michael breathed in deep, tasting the herbal spices on his tongue and the moisture in the air and he was at peace for a little while. No weird magic, no pig mothers, no threat of death. Just the sound of rushing water and the taste of something vaguely cinnamon on his lips. He stood there until the bathwater was nearing the very edge. He took one final deep breath and yanked on the rope once more to stem the flow of the water.

Then, like a hammer shattering the fragile glass moment, he lost balance on the bath's edge and absolutely ate shit, landing with a heavy thud on the hardwood floor.

“Ow, fuck! Oh my god!” Michael slammed his fists against the ground in a confusing mix of frustration and pain, cradling his elbow that had knocked against the edge of the bath in his tumble. He rolled onto his back, breathing slow and deep to try and siphon the pain away unsuccessfully. Honestly, fuck this. His body and psyche were not built to do domestic labour. If only he’d been trapped in, like, a freaky magic spirit music studio or something. He’d be killer there. But  _ no.  _ It just had to be a fucking bathhouse. Fuck his whole life.

Michael felt the presence above him before he saw it, a shadow that crept into his peripherals like some kind of phantom. For all the shit he'd seen today Michael barely reacted outside of a confused and mildly worried “huh?”

The shadowy figure loomed above him, its rippling form solidifying the longer Michael kept it in eyeshot. Michael shifted uncomfortably but didn't move to get up. He really needed to figure out what its pronouns were if it had any.

“The bath isn't open to the public yet, sir ma'am or other.” No response. Michael puffed out his cheeks, breathing out a sigh tinged with frustration. Michael would be lying if he said he didn't know the struggle of customer service, he had worked as a cashier before he moved towns and had his fair share of annoying customer experience under his belt, but Michael reckoned that this might be a little different to manage what with the otherworldly shit and all. So he took a deep breath, counted to 10 in his head, and hauled himself to his feet.

He didn't want to be mean or dismissive to the figure. It did help him out earlier, albeit at the expense of the foreman. Michael straightened up and threw on a patient smile but before he could say anything the shadowy figure held out its hands. He glanced down, confused and slightly alarmed at the number of bath tags that sat innocently in dark palms.

“Uhh, what?”

The figure pushed its outstretched hands towards him, bouncing the tags a little as if to entice him to take them.

“Are these for me? Did— did you steal these?”

The figure smiled vaguely and bounced them some again, urging.

“I wuh- ahh. I don't... need them? Uhm, I only.. needed the one, can you take them back? I feel like you could get in trouble for- um, for blatant thievery and all.”

The figure (did it have a name? Should he give it some kind of nickname?) seemed to register this slowly, the tentative smile dropping from its face-mask-thing. All at once the figure seemed to ripple in the light again, distorting itself like an image being seen through a waterfall before it faded completely from sight, letting the tags that were previously in his hands clatter to the ground loudly. Michael bit back a surprised yelp and instinctively jumped away from the commotion, his eyes darting towards the opening to the hallway in fear that someone might have heard. Frantically, he scooped up the fallen tags and deposited them into his bucket, the one previously filled to the brim in soapy water. He'd return them later, maybe when the foreman wasn't around and he could just sneak them back without anyone noticing.

The sound of a gong jolted him from his thoughts, bringing his attention suddenly to the sounds of a commotion. Michael stuck his head out into the hallway but only saw patrons and staff bustling about, though a touch more frantically than before. A few men were waving red fans in the air like a traffic director, urging patrons out of the baths and down the hall. Women scurried and rushed towards the upper floors, gathering decorative blankets and pillows off the ground. The longer Michael looked at it the more it seemed to spiral into pandemonium. It was a wonder how he hadn't heard the commotion sooner, presumably hyperfocused on the kleptomaniac shadowy figure to really notice. Michael's foot bounced nervously without his consent. What was he supposed to do in this situation? What was the contingency plan?

“Hael, Hael!”

Michael snapped his attention towards the sound of his given name. The foreman was rushing towards him frantically, his handkerchief gripped tightly in his sweaty palms. Michael discreetly nudged the bucket full of tags out of sight with his foot. “Yep?” he said as casually as physically possible.

“Squip wants you in the main hall, it’s an emergency!”

Michael clicked his tongue. “And they need  _ me _ ?”

“You're the most expendable. Now get going!”

“Wow, alright.” Michael coughed out a brief laugh in disbelief - though he could fully believe this shit who was he kidding - and swiftly strode down the hall, passing the foreman's podium and knocking it roughly with the side of his heel in teenage spite.

Squip was standing stone straight in front of the ornate double doors, tall, imposing and an almost threatening form. Eremia stood beside them, still as the grave with a glazed look in his eye. He was now wearing a slightly different uniform, slicker and tighter with something electric blue and skin-tight that encircled his throat like a choker, or a collar. Michael squirmed uncomfortably at the thought and instantly dispelled it.

“Hael. Excellent. I have a job for you.”

_ “Do you now?” _ Michael muttered under his breath. Much louder, he said, “Yes, boss?”

“Pay attention: you will show this customer to the big tub, scrub it down and get it out of my bathhouse as fast as possible. Not a word of complaint from you or I will terminate your contract so fast I won’t even need to use magic to turn you into coal. Do we understand each other?”

Michael puffed out his cheeks but nodded stiffly in agreement. Squip hummed in a tone that made it crystal clear that they had little to no faith in him and turned back towards the door just as a worker creaked it open and shoved himself inside almost desperately. “It’s here!”

The remaining workers who had hung back to watch Squip assert their control over the new guy immediately scrambled back, fleeing to the upper ends of the bathhouse. Michael’s dwindling confidence rocketed down as the doors creaked open again and a foul, sour stench instantly filled the room. It was unlike anything he had ever smelt before, rotten food and boiling tar mixed with 7 types of animal feces and gallons of sour milk and stale water. His hair stood on its ends, a crawling sensation travelling through his skin as if his blood were filled with worms as he struggled to suppress the urge to fucking vomit right then and there.

The visuals weren’t any better. Oozing compounds of thick, brown and green sludge folding over itself as if even that mass was trying to escape the stench, rippling over a discernable shape that warped itself to slip through the crack of the door. Pools of thick sickly purple and yellow sweat seemed to pour unendingly from the orifices of the creature, falling to the once pristine floor with a sickening  _ shlop. _

Even Squip, who was always so composed, shivered in disgust with a slightly pinched expression on their face that shattered their carefully crafted stoic mask. Michael chanced a glance at Miah and was surprised to see that he hadn’t even reacted, glassy expression pointed miles and miles away from where they were now.

“Welcome  _ valued customer  _ to my bathhouse,” Squip intoned as blankly as they could without opening their mouth too wide. Michael bowed deeply, half because it was polite but more so he wouldn’t have to look at the creature any longer. When he straightened up, he was met with a tendril of fatty sludge waving directly in front of his face. Spots of gold were visible through the cracks of the mud and tar. Michael almost fainted.

Squip nudged him roughly with their foot. “Hurry up now, boy. Take his money.”

Michael swore right then that if he ever got out he’d spend the rest of his life desecrating the very name of whatever real world spirit Squip was associated with if they had any.

He held out both of his trembling hands and refused to look at them as he felt the sludge drop into his waiting palms. It was uncomfortably warm, like a recently vacated bus seat. Michael's eyes began to water as he turned stiffly and led the way to the big tub, choking out a meek, “This way, please” as he went.

Workers scattered, barricading themselves in the hallways and catwalks to watch the disaster from a safe distance like one would watch a car wreck. He hears Squip behind him ordering Miah to follow them and barking out a demand to open all the windows as they climbed to the catwalks, watching Michael with sharp eyes.

Michael power-walked back down the hall, holding his hands out as far from his body as possible. He heard Chloe yell out for him but didn’t turn around. Turning would mean that he would have to face the stink spirit and Michael wasn’t goddamn having it. Michael pressed his back to the wall as the mound of sludge trudged towards the bath, grabbing the edges with tentacles of brown slime and slipping into the water.

It caused a tidal wave of herbal liquid to spill out of the tub, spinning and splashing against the wall before almost instantly turning into the same brownish-green sludge that made up the creature. It covered Michael, the sticky substance clinging to his clothes and skin like molasses. He cried out in disgust, an involuntary action, and grabbed at the bucket filled with tags before it could be swept away, dumping the gold into the bucket as he did so. Once it was secured against his hip he looked up at the creature in abject horror.

The thing was uncleanable. Fuck.

The spirit seemed to realise this as well, looking down at its hands(?) with visible disappointment. It slid to the edge of the bath and opened its dripping maw to moan despondently at Michael, its breath visibly wafting through the air.

“I don’t know what you want me to—” The tags in the bucket rattled as another wave of sludge jolted against his abdomen. Michael glanced down at it and back up at the stink spirit. “— to… wait, this might work.”

Michael adjusted his hold on the bucket and launched himself to the side, struggling against the current made by the shifting sludge that clawed against his body like quicksand. He slammed his fist against the wall, listening for the hollow ring of the tag sender. Workers tittered and whispered amongst themselves from the rafters as Michael banged his fist against the wall until the door popped open, nearly slamming him in the fucking face. Scowling, Michael pulled himself towards the opening and grabbed a tag from the bucket.

The slime made his hands uncoordinated and it took him a few tries to properly secure a tag, dropping 2 in the process. Good thing that kleptomaniac shadow stole a whole bunch of them.

He tugged the ribbon, sending the tag flying up into the abyss and the pipe creaked out of the wall. Michael pushed off from the wall and sloshed towards the bath, climbing up the side of it with his fingers clawing at the surface buried under the mounds and mounds of ooze that slicked over the lip of the tub. He pulled himself up and grasped the rope with both hands, giving it a hard tug before he slipped off the edge and was plunged into the slimy bath water.

The sound of rushing water was muted in his ears. The gunk clung to his arms and legs tightly to him, adamant in trapping him. He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled to no avail, his lungs already burning from lack of fresh oxygen but he refused to give in. He wasn’t going to fucking die drowning in shit water and covered in filth in Keanu Reeve’s bathhouse of entrapment.

Something long and soft grabbed him by the middle, slithering around his waist and easily pulling him from his prison. Michael gasped and panted when he broke the surface, sucking in mouthfuls of air as he brought a hand to his face to wipe the water from his eyes. His hand covered his eyes far too easily and his stomach sank. His glasses were gone. Shit. He slicked his hair from his forehead and squinted at the creature. It was covered in water, spring green like tropical seafoam, but the muck wasn’t budging. Double shit.

“Are you alright?” the person holding him up asked. Michael squinted up at him and somehow recognised the fuzzy, jumbled features.

Miah balanced easily on the edge of the tub, arms wrapped around Michael’s waist securely. His eyes no longer looked glassy and dull and for some reason he seems to have ditched the blue choker in his rush to save Michael’s life. But Michael was more struck by how close they seemed to be and fought down a blush as he subtly shifted his head back.

“Y-yeah, yeah, I’m fine. U-uh—”

A tendril of sludge brought his attention up to the creature's side obscured by the flowing sheets of water. Michael reached a hand out instinctively to steady himself on the spirits squishy frame. His knuckles hit something hard and Michael frowned, trailing his fingertips across the object. It was long and thin, a thorn of some kind? Wrapping his hand around the thorn he gave it a sharp tug but gained nothing.

Still panting, Michael licked his lips before he peered up at the spirit’s vaguely pain-laced face.

“Is— is this hurting you? Do you want me to pull it out?” The creature cried in confirmation.

Miah shifted. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s hurt, I think,” Michael muttered. “Hang on, I’m gonna try—” Michael leaned forward and grabbed the base of the thorn around where it was stuck in the creature's flesh. Still nothing.

“Hael! Hael, are you alright?”

Michael twisted around in Miah’s hold, squinting at the hazy figure that burst into the room, pink and white with a splash of twisting brown. Chloe.

“Yeah, I’m fine!”

“I ran downstairs to ask Rich for help, god knows he’s gonna hold this against me till I die. He’s sending out his best herbal mixture.”

“Tell Rich I owe him my fucking firstborn!” Michael twisted back around to grab the thorn in both hands, bracing his feet against the lip of the bath and pulled. If it moved at all it sure didn’t show it. “There’s something stuck in it!”

“What?”

“It’s like a thorn or something! I can’t get it out!”

The arms around his waist stiffened suddenly, almost dropping Michael entirely. “A thorn? Are you sure?”

“Pretty fucking sure, Miah. It’s really stuck in there, I can’t pull it out.”

Miah spun in his hold, clasping onto Michael with one arm around his waist and freeing up one of his hands. Michael would have blushed if he weren’t currently using his remaining two brain cells to try and think of a way to unplug the literal thorn in this creature’s side.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Miah ran his fingers over the sheets of water that cascaded over the creature, a strange light turning a patch of the water bright blue before plunging his hand into it. After a beat, he withdrew his hand that was now somehow clutching a thick coil of rope. He faced Michael, expression stern. “This isn’t a stink spirit. It’s something else. Attach this rope to the thorn.”

Chloe had climbed the edge of the bath, snatching the rope from Michael’s hands as he tried and failed to wind the rope securely. She tied the knot in a swift movement and motioned to the onlookers behind her, throwing the other end of the rope to them. They caught on quickly, scrambling to grab onto a section of it tightly.

“Ready?” Chloe yelled over the conundrum.

Michael tugged on the knot. It was secure. “Ready!”

“Alright, worms! Pull!”

The combined strength of the bathhouse workers loosened the thorn from its wedge, pulling it out with a sickening wet squelching noise but that wasn’t the end of it. From the depths of the water, a mud-covered bicycle emerged, tangled in what looked like a metal frame and a fishing net. Michael blinked and squinted at the object but continued to pull and pull and pull, his arms straining.

He felt Miah slip behind him, grabbing the rope as Michael moved forward to clasp a hand on the wheel of the bike, pulling an assortment of disgusting looking junk from deep in the orifices of the spirit. It quickly piled against the ground, now tumbling freely from the spirit in a tidal wave of garbage emerging with a dribbling wet crash.

Michael grasped the ends of a fishing wire, the last thing that came out, and tugged sharply once more until it rocketed out with a satisfying pop. Silence washed through the bathhouse for a split second before the water rippled and shook, erupting up and sweeping the workers off their feet. He heard Miah gasp as he was thrown to the floor and Michael whipped around to help him when a watery tendril wrapped itself around Michael. His yelp in alarm was drowned by the water as it rose over his figure, submerging him for the second time that night.

The sound was muffled once more. He faintly heard Chloe yell for him, the shouts of the bathhouse workers, but Michael couldn’t focus on any of that. Instead, all of his attention was laser-focused on a figure that stood in a weird, blank space that felt like it wasn’t a part of the bathhouse at all. It was a woman, from what Michael could just make out with his shitty eyesight. He couldn’t discern any facial features but he pinpointed short black hair and robes of rippling red and gold. She bowed smoothly, her hair falling like a curtain.

“Thank you,” she intoned in a sweet, melodic voice. A strange calm washed over Michael as she said those words, so much so that he didn’t notice the water receding until he stood quietly in front of the bath, his hands no longer clasp around a thin fishing wire but instead on something smooth and cylindrical.

A bottle sat squished against his palms, clear and cold and filled with a red liquid that sparkled in the light. He frowned at it. Was this a medicine of some kind? Looking at it gave Michael a strange feeling, like finding the keys to a set of handcuffs but the handcuffs weren’t on him. What was he supposed to do with this information?

Behind him, he heard a commotion. A multitude of gasps and cheers that sounded off in a random pattern.

“Gold! It left gold on the ground!”

“Out of my way, that’s mine!”

“Back off, this is the property of the bathhouse!”

Michael felt a hand on his shoulder and glanced over to see Miah smiling shyly, dripping with water with flecks of mud on his cheeks. Michael returned the smile, slipping the bottle safely into his pant pocket.

The bath water was bubbling strangely and Miah bit his lip, turning to the rest of the bathhouse. “Get the doors open, she’s leaving!”

As soon as the last syllable left Miah’s mouth the water erupted into the air, releasing a being of pure white energy that spun happily in the air a handful of times before charging through the open balcony doors and out of the bathhouse.

Cheers swept through the bathhouse as guests and workers alike celebrated their newfound wealth and Michael’s success. Chloe patted him roughly on the back and grinned with the most sincerity he had ever seen on her. “Great work. I really thought you were going to drown.” It wasn’t quite a compliment but it was good enough.

“Yes, yes. Good job, boy. You managed to appease a River Goddess and made us a lot of money tonight.”

Michael squinted his eyes at the imposing silhouette of Squip, who finally emerged from wherever they were hiding for the duration of the endeavour. They were clapping, slow and sarcastic, and it made Michael’s blood boil. “Thank you, boss,” he said through gritted teeth, ignoring how their body language tightened at his tone.

Squip turned their sharp gaze towards Miah and the boy flinched almost violently. “I’ll have a word with you later.” It didn’t sound like a threat but every cell in Michael body sung with danger. Miah managed a shaky nod and Squip turned to the rest of the workers who were all still subtly trying to pocket whatever gold they managed to snatch. Squip didn’t even have to say anything to get them all to empty their pockets onto the floor. “Don’t give me that,” Squip sneered at the collective groans that rippled through the crowd. “Dinner is on the house tonight, seeing as we can afford it. Now, clean this filth up.”

Not even Squip’s unfeeling demand could break the spirits of the bathhouse that night.


	3. Act Three - Free

The celebrations lasted well into the night. With the last of the customers taken care of and the big tub taped off with cones and signs, the workers headed into the common room to feast and drink to their leisure. Music was played through the open windows of every floor of the bathhouse that night as the workers talked and laughed amongst friends and colleagues, smiles never seeming to drop from their faces.

Michael sat alone on the balcony. His performance at the big tub seemed to gain him a lot of respect amongst the workers, many of them going out of their way to congratulate him or tell him that he did an excellent job. Someone had even gone through the trash and fished his glasses out for him, not a single scratch on the lenses which almost seemed impossible but MIchael wasn’t about to question a miracle. He deeply appreciated the sentiments but eventually, all those people talking to him and touching him became a bit too much for him. So he retreated out onto the balcony to get some fresh air and a moment of solace.

He swung his legs in the open air beyond the bars of the balcony, staring off into the horizon. The sea was still, reflecting the night sky like a mirror in a way the real sea in the real world would not. It was calming in a way. Beautiful. The distant city glimmered and gleamed across the water like a row of bottled fireflies, the lights bouncing their way towards the bathhouse and towards Michael. He almost felt that, if he reached his hand far enough, he could capture the lights within his palm.

Michael snorted to himself. How fucking poetic.

The door behind him slid open and a moment later, Chloe shuffled into his field of vision holding a plate of what Michael recognised from his intensive cultural experiences (as a huge fucking weeb) as Taiyaki. Chloe all but collapsed next to Michael, holding the plate out between them like a barrier. She stayed a respectable distance from Michael, which he greatly appreciated. “Want one? I nabbed them off the foreman.”

“Do you just have it out for the guy or something?” Michael asked, swiping the fish-shaped cake from the plate.

“I have dreams of strangling him,” Chloe casually remarked, taking one for herself and gazing out at the still sea.

“So, did you see where Mia— I mean, Eremia went?” Michael asked after a moment, already halfway through his second cake. He was starving, let him live.

Chloe shook her head, almost remorseful. “No. Squip probably took him up to their office. There are whispers, y’know. That Squip makes him do bad things.”

“Really?”

“Don’t know. All we see is the aftermath.” Chloe toyed with an uneaten piece of her Taiyaki, winding her arm back to throw it into the ocean below. “He’s a good kid. Doesn’t deserve that shit.”

Michael hummed, resting his chin on the edge of the railings lower beam as he watched the moon slowly peek around the parting clouds, turning them white and the water silver. Streaks of colour swirled across in gentle ripples as a train lumbered past disturbing the mirror-like quality of the sea, its bright yellow headlights illuminating the unseen path it rode upon.

Chloe watched the train glide towards the glittering city wistfully. “One of these days, Hael, I’m gonna get on that train. Me and Brooke, we’re gonna ride it all the way out there and never look back.” She paused for a while, mulling something over in her head. “Maybe Rich can come too if he can ever get out of that furnace.”

“Rich isn’t an employee here, isn’t he?”

Chloe laughed humourlessly. “You’re a perceptive little bastard, I’ll give you that. No, he belongs to the bathhouse. Not to Squip but to the actual building. He’s a part of its major functions, physically attached to the fires of the boiler room.”

“Jesus…”

“Yeah. Sucks, right? Even harder nowadays with him and Jake.”

Michael reached over to snag another cake from the plate. “Vanilla Ice? The guy you gave the rock to when you Mission Impossible’d me in?”

“Same guy. Rich’s fiance. Ever since Squip caught them together in the boiler room they haven’t been able to see each other. I’ve been their relationship runner for years now.”

“Shit. Hope they figure it out.”

Chloe hummed, brushing the crumbs from her shirt. “So do I.” She stretched and swore, glancing up at the moon as it cut its way through the clouds again. “Well, Brooke’s probably looking for me. I better head in. Good work tonight, Hael. You’re not bad for a smelly human.”

Michael snorted but waved in thanks as Chloe passed him.

The doors slid shut again, leaving Michael with his own thoughts.

He sighed, popping a broken piece of his Taiyaki into his mouth and chewing listlessly as he stared into the void. He slid the bottle the River Goddess gave him out of his pocket absently, rolling it against his palm before holding it up to the light of the moon. The light reflected through the red liquid, sending a shimmering mosaic of red and pink crawling against the skin of his hand. The mixture looked faintly bubbly - like a flat soda - but had most of the aesthetic qualities of glitter glue ASMR slime. Michael chewed on his lip before he shrugged, popped the lid open.

Fuck it. Live like you’re dying, he always said.

The liquid tasted stale but fizzy and almost like those fake candied cherries his mom would put on cakes because she hated regular cherries. Not terrible but the intense and sudden sweetness made Michael cough a little. He chased the artificial sugar down with the last bite of his Taiyaki, plugging the lid back on.

The little reminder of his mom sent a trickle of sadness to run down his back and latch itself onto his heart and his eyes were drawn over to what little he could see of the farm from the balcony. Maybe the medicine would help his parents? He lifted the bottle again, turning it sideways so that the swirling red liquid obscured the farmhouse and turned the building bright red.

Maybe.

Michael finished up the last of his treat and pocketed the bottle. Tomorrow would hold more answers he was sure of it.

* * *

Michael was running in his dream. The flowers that loomed over him seemed to drape more viciously as he rushed towards the farmhouse in a blur of colour. Bursting through the gate, he held the bottle aloft in a mock of triumph, standing on his toes to announce to the barn. “Mom! Inay! The River Goddess gave this to me, I think it might help you!”

But something was wrong. The pigs - who were usually dozing or eating - were screaming instead, thrashing about in their cages and climbing on top of each other to get to Michael. Michael looked around in panic, only now realising that he couldn’t recognise his mothers through the drove that squealed and snorted at him.

“I— I can’t— Mama, where are you?”

The screaming only got louder and louder as the pigs advanced, the sound warping and shifting to sound like human screams. Like his mothers’ screams. Michael flinched back and dropped the bottle to cover his ears, begging for them to stop. It only got louder. And louder. And louder and louder and louder and louderandlouderan _dlouderandlouderand—_

 

Michael didn’t wake up screaming or in a cold sweat or anything that would typically signal an outsider to a nightmare. He had grown out of that years ago. Instead, he woke with his heart thundering in his chest as if he’d just run a fucking marathon, beat after beat pulsing in his ears like a deafening drum. It took him 238 seconds (he counted) to calm himself down with his usual _Big Anxiety_ breathing exercises. He lay there for a few minutes, fingers pressed to his jugular until his brain was absolutely sure he wasn’t about to die right then and there before sliding out of his futon and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

He stretched and swore as he felt a sore spot on his side from where his binder had pressed against him in his sleep. He knew he shouldn’t sleep in his binder, that is was really fucking dangerous, but he hadn’t felt comfortable or safe taking it off for the night, not with all those people just outside the door. He peeled it off for a moment and pressed against his side, feeling his ribs through his skin. Just a few small aches, not life-threatening but not terribly great either. He grumbled and halfheartedly tossed his binder onto the little table next to his bed, bunching his blankets up to his chest to hide.

Craning his neck he could see from his little window that the sun was still up, not the time for work of any kind due to this world’s nocturnal tendencies. And of course he wasn’t on their clock yet, he’d barely stayed for 2 nights. Michael sighed and flopped back down onto the covers, burying his head into the pillow.

Usually, after an anxiety attack, Michael would feel exhausted no matter when it happened. It drained him, any and all energy reserves fading away in the blink of an eye and Michael would need to put away several hours of the day to recharge. Strangely enough, he just felt jittery and restless. There was an underlying feeling in his gut, pulling him up and out. He swallowed roughly and rubbed his stomach as if the light friction would dispel it, his toes curling and uncurling frantically in an absent gesture to work his restlessness out.

He gave up in less than a minute.

Shoving his binder and his work clothes on, Michael slid his door open with the intention to tiptoe out the door and visit the farmhouse but when he stepped out into the hallway he could see the abandoned futons lying haphazardly in the joint sleeping area most of the men shared. Frowning, Michael glanced out the window. Still sunny. Weird, no one should be awake by now.

Stepping out onto the balcony, Michael craned his neck to stare up at the chimneys. Both of them were smoking, signalling that Rich had lit the bathhouse fires already. Michael’s frown deepened as he skids his palm over the wooden beam of the railing, contemplative.

The bathhouse floor was in full swing when Michael made it down. Workers of all sections were bustling from room to room in some kind of excited hurry. Not a single employee looked tired or fatigued despite the ridiculous time it was for them. There weren’t even any customers in sight, just employees running back and forth carrying plates of food and buckets of tags. Michael skipped over the last few steps and buried his hands in his pockets. What was going on?

Chloe bound into his field of vision, holding hands with Brooke as she chatted vivaciously He’d never seen her so excited before it was almost disturbing. “Hael! There you are, I was wondering when you were going to wake up.” Chloe tugged Brooke along gently as she beaming over at Michael.

“Uhm, hey Chlo. Brooke. What’s— uh… with the early start?”

Chloe smiled widely, teeth flashing almost dangerously. “A customer came in early as hell, and she’s a big fucking spender. Look!” Chloe shoved her hand right into Michael’s face and he jolted backward. Brooke giggled and gently maneuvered Chloe’s wrist to properly show what was perched between her fingers. A single nugget of glittering, pure gold.

“She’s been handing out gold like it’s nothing,” Brooke intoned, her voice mellow and musical but still held a note of the same contagious excitement. “I think we’ve made more today than we’ve had in years. We had enough for a train ticket in the first hour.”

“But we have to stick around until she leaves, get as much as we can before Squip finds out about this,” Chloe added, winding an arm around Brooke’s shoulders causing the blonde to roll her eyes fondly. “Hmm. I can almost see our new home. A sandy white beach house with back garden and a gazebo.”

Brooke turned back to Michael with a sweet smile. “We’re all gathering in the big tub, where the customer is. Do you wanna join?”

Michael bit his lip. Something didn’t feel right. “Might not. Might go visit Rich for a bit, actually.”

Brooke frowned sadly. “I wouldn’t bother him too much. He was pretty upset when they woke him up to light the fires. Not even Jake’s new present could lift his mood.”

His stomach turned. “I’ll go back upstairs, then. Not feeling too great.”

“Get some rest, Hael. We’ll cut you a bit of what we get,” Brooke said with a wink before letting herself be led away by Chloe’s avaricious enthusiasm. Michael watched them go, anxiety building. He jogged back up the stairs and waited for the elevator, his mind reeling. Something was weird about all of this but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It was on the tip of his tongue, the edge of his gut pulled him towards the big tub but his fight or flight instincts leaned further and further towards its latter function.

Tapping his foot, he hovered his hand over the control panel and, after a bit of deliberation, pulled the lever up. Miah’s room was near Squip’s office he had been told. Maybe he could give Michael some answers. He was obviously much better versed in this magic shit than Michael was.

The hallway before Squip’s office was just as terrifyingly empty and silent as it was when he was first here. His bare footsteps echoed down the hall, bouncing off every smooth marble surface as he tiptoed across the shadows, keeping close to the wall just in case Squip materialised in front of him and he needed to quickly slam his head against a hard surface to escape them in death.

Squip’s office door was closed when he approached it but Michael could hear murmuring from behind the white wood.

“—ou got out of it.”

“I-I d-do-don't know, I was j—”

“What have I told you about stuttering?”

Squip’s cold voice chilled Michael down to the bone. His stomach turned when he heard Miah take an audible calming breath.

“That... it is ugly, boss.”

Squip hummed in a mocking tone. Michael hardly noticed that he'd stopped walking as a wave of blind rage swept through him.

“And?”

“... and that I'm despicable. Boss.”

“Quite.” There was a pause and Michael's heart leapt as Miah muffled a pained gasp. “Tell me again.”

“I swear I—! I don't know! I fe— I just… he was drowning! I had to do something!”

“I told you to obey.”

Miah’s gasp was like a barely stifled scream. “I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I don't know what happened!” He sobbed. “One minute I was in the dream space and the next I was pulling Hael out from the water! I don't even know how I got there! Please!”

There was a thud and Miah's heavy breathing filled the room. Squip sighed lightly as if they were slightly inconvenienced by Miah's desperate heaving gasps. “If you will not obey then I have no use for you.”

There was a scuffling as Miah presumably scrambled to his feet. “Please don't! I'll be good, I-I-I can fix it, I swear!”

“Do shut your mouth.”

He went silent in an instant.

“I would have thought you would become more susceptible to the mind control over time. It appears that I was wrong, something that you will come to regret.”

Mind control? Michael felt a wave of nausea hit him low in the stomach.

Miah whimpered. “I didn't mean to.”

“Of course you didn't.” The words were sharp and cold, laced with such heavy disgust Michael felt as though the words were aimed at him. He scratched uncomfortably at his arm, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He felt a tug, stronger than the one that plagued him in the bathhouse, pulling him towards the door in a visceral urge to rescue the other boy from that monster but his feet stayed rooted to the floor. Frozen in place. Another wave of nausea curled in his stomach as Miah whimpered at the sound of footsteps drawing nearer.

“You’re useless to me,” Squip drawled, their tone empty and hollow.

“Wait—”

“Sleep.”

Michael flinched at the instantaneous thud of what he assumed was Miah’s body hitting the floor. He was sweating, his work shirt growing uncomfortably warm with terror and anxiety as he listened to Squip tsk as if they were mildly inconvenienced by Miah’s collapse. He heard a shuffling sound as if someone was nudging something roughly across the floor, and suddenly the clicking of Squip’s shoes pivoted and was heading straight towards the door.

Michael’s heart leapt clean out of his mouth as he scrambled to duck behind a pillar just as Squip slammed their doors open, strutting out of their office casually. Michael pressed a hand over his mouth to control his erratic breathing as he heard Squip stalk down the hall towards the bend past his hiding place, turning the corner with a swish of their coat. He waited for what felt like hours before inching out of his hiding place, his heart hammering.

He pressed his back against the wall and caught his breath. Holy fucking shit. Is that what cardiac arrest felt like? Michael pressed a shaky hand to his chest, clutching tightly the at the fabrics that stood as a barrier between his steely fingers and his skin as his life flashed before his eyes in short, frankly boring bursts. His terror and anxiety had materialised as dry pain clawing up his throat threatening to rip his vocal cords clean out of his oesophagus, tightening against his clavicle like he’d swallowed a cup of rocks and dirt and crushed up glass shards. He swallowed vainly trying to relieve the unwanted sensation as he wiped the sweat off the back of his neck.

It took him only a few minutes to feel like a human again and seeing as he was hell fucking pressed for time he unconsciously decided to speed the recovery process up a bit. Peeking around the corner one more time Michael scampered into Squip's office, making sure to close the door as quietly as possible.

The sight of Miah crumpled on the floor like a broken doll shattered Michael. He looked like he'd been thrown, curled at the waist where he'd presumably been kicked and red sores splattered across his neck akin to electrical burns. Michael caught sight of his wrists where the cardigan rode up, feeling his stomach churn at the matching electrical scars that wrapped around pale, bony flesh. He almost totally lost it when he noticed the tears still spilling down his cheeks.

He was cradling the smaller boy in his arms in an instant, taking care to avoid the angry wounds. “Miah. Miah, holy shit. Wake up, please. We have to get— I gotta get you out of here. I gotta—” Michael struggled to his feet, lifting Miah in his arms. He weighed almost nothing, another extremely concerning thought that drove Michael out of his mind with worry, but Michael's shaking legs and crippling panic brought them crashing back to the ground. “Fuck.” Michael damn near punched the ground in frustration. _“Fuck!”_ He dragged himself up, shuffling towards Miah and grabbing him by the shoulders in another attempt to haul them both to their feet. His legs protested wildly and he fought to bite it back as he dragged Miah all but two steps before collapsing again, panting erratically.

He wasn't going to fucking die here. He was supposed to get out, he was supposed to _live, goddamnit._ He wanted to escape, save Miah, rescue his family, live in that two-storey house with the blue roof, attend a new school where he could start anew, apply to Rutgers, live his dream. He wanted to _fucking live._

God. He missed his moms _so much._

Grunting, Michael dragged himself towards Miah's body lying prone on his back, breathing shallow. “Get up, please,” he whimpered pathetically, close to tears. “I need you to get up. We have to go, I can't— I ca—” Michael pressed his forehead to Miah's, mimicking something he saw on Moana and replicated several times with his moms. It became a comforting thing for the three of them and Michael hoped, he prayed, it would do _something_ to reach Miah. “Miah, please. I need you.”

For a moment, he didn't move. Nothing moved. Sounds were muted, silent, empty. Michael sobbed brokenly - just once - before he shifted back to try and lift Miah again, determined to not give up.

Miah's eyes shot open.

The room was painted a blinding blue and Michael hissed, shielding his eyes against the onslaught of bright but somehow cold light. He felt something grip his middle, winding around his torso and forcing him back towards the other end of the office, towards the window. The sound of glass shattering rang through Michael's ears though he did not feel the impact, the splitting noise somehow amplified by a million as he shrieked and fell through open air.

The same thing grabbed him again, pushing him atop something long and smooth rippling through the air like a flag. He gripped its long soft hair and Michael’s brain was suddenly cued into the fact that he was essentially riding a flying snake dragon.

What the _fuck?_

Michael squinted at the creature. Its body was impossibly long and kind of small, barely wide enough to hold his entire rame. It was strangely soft, pure white with shimmers of baby blue and sea green that travelled like lighting down its… fur? He shifted his hand to brush against the white. It was fur but it was _weird_. Smooth and cold, like a fish, but not wet. The hair sprouted down the back like a horses mane coloured a spring green that shone hazily in the morning light. Protruding from its head were a set of horns that Michael shifted forward to reach, leaning up to get a better view at this things face.

It was already looking at him, a white dog's muzzle and long whiskers and liquid blue eyes that reminded him so much of—

_“M-Miah!?”_

The (dragon? Eremia? The dragon who was Eremia?) huffed out something that could be an affirming grunt before swooping down, body curling through the wind as they rocketed down the cliffside. Michael screamed with his mouth closed as they twisted, changing trajectory suddenly and soaring into a large metal tube that led into the bathhouse's inner workings. Michael pressed his body flat against Miah as they maneuvered around giant cogs and wheels and pistons, slicing through a piece of steel like butter and scrambling down another tube. Miah shifted, pulling his upper half up as they crashed through an exhaust fan and into a sweltering hot room Michael recognised immediately.

Rich’s scream was almost like a dog whistle. Michael flinched as Miah snarled and scuttled clumsily across the wall of drawers, his tail slamming repeatedly against the drawers, the motion forcing several of them to shatter and spill. Rich screamed even louder at the mess.

Miah slid down the wall and into a heap on the floor, taking Michael down with him. Michael scrambled away as Miah writhed and whined, the snarls sounding more and more pained and dog-like by the second.

“Holy fuck! Miah, what's wrong with you?”

_“Holy fuck, you've fucked up my wall!”_

Michael ignored Rich's yelling, running forward to grab at Miah's face. “What's wrong? Are you hurt?” His eyes caught sight of the angry red marks over his neck and he felt like flinging himself into the sun. “Okay, you obviously are. I'm dumb. How do we fix this?”

Miah's only response was another pained snarl, shaking Michael's arms away to curl himself inwards. Michael damn near growled. “Oh no, not on your life.” He grabbed Miah's stupid dragon face and forced it up to eye level. “Let me fucking help you. What do you need?”

Miah's eyes turned sad and reluctant as he hesitantly pushed his snout against Michael's pocket, nosing at the red bottle that seemed to burn now that attention was brought to it. Michael pulled it out, staring at it quizzically. “The River Goddess’ gift? What do I do with it? Like, pour it on the burn?” He mimed splashing the liquid in the general direction of Miah's throat. Even when writhing in pain Miah managed to roll his eyes at Michael.

Miah mimed swallowing, something that admittedly looked really fucking weird with a dog snout, and stuck out his tongue. Michael looked at the bottle again and uncapped it swiftly. “If it'll save you.”

The second a dash of the shimmering red liquid hit Miah's tongue he _screamed._ He threw himself back, clawed legs scraping desperately at the air in pain that was so tangible it shot through Michael like an armour-piercing bullet. Michael cried out in alarm, grabbing Miah's face to hold him desperately, clamping his mouth shut with his whole body to force the dragon to swallow.

Then, as quickly as it began, it was over. Miah gave one last pained shiver and collapsed, sliding to the floor with a heavy thunk, motionless. His form rippled and shook, melting away to reveal Miah, looking significantly worse than he did when Michael found him, breathing evenly, his eyes shut. Michael let out a breath, pressing his face into Miah's chest as he whispered reassurances into the fabric, finally allowing himself to relax.

Rich made a choking sort of coughing noise, startling Michael back to his feet with a wince. His expression was caught between disbelief, confusion and pained. He honestly looked like he was about to combust. Michael sighed, running one hand over his face and waving pathetically with the other. “Afternoon, Richard.”

Rich, by all intents and purposes, wasn't fucking having it. “What in Gods flat earth was _that?”_

“The Earth isn’t fucking flat.” Was Michael’s instinctual response, hands already raised in preparation to spit a carefully constructed and frequently practised rant on Round Earth Truth before he caught himself, putting his hands down slowly as if he were lowering a firearm. “And, um, I have no idea.” He turned back to look at Miah. The boys head had lolled against his shoulder, breaths coming out in weak puffs and there was a thin sheen of sweat highlighting his forehead and cheeks in the firelight. He felt his heart painfully constrict. “Squip’s been doing some bad shit to him, Rich.”

Rich sighed, defeated. “I know.”

Michael felt his eyes burn. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t help him. I can barely help myself. How am I supposed to save him when I can’t even save my own fucking parents by myself.”

“Y’know,” Rich mumbled, surprisingly sombre. “It’s not a bad thing to ask for help.”

“Do you know what to do?”

“Fuck no.”

Michael opened his mouth to retort in the most cuttingly sarcastic way he could think of but was barred from voicing it by a hand to his mouth. Rich grinned. “But I know someone who does.”

Michael watched warily as the fire spirit rummaged through a chest tucked away in the shadow of the podium, throwing things over his shoulder as he spoke. “The only way… to break out of the contract fully is to be given your name back. No one here knows what his is, even I don't know and I've been here _way_ longer than him. But I have connections, I've networked.” Rich straightened up, clutching a long, thin piece of laminated coloured paper proudly in his fist. “Now I love this kid.” He pointed at Miah, who had shifted into a fetal position. “He’s a good guy and my best friend. Could I leave this place to help him? Fuck no. Would I sacrifice things to save him? Now that’s a reasonable ask.”

He waved the laminated paper in the air and it made the wobbly sound. Michael was momentarily delighted by it.

“Does this have some kind of point?”

“I’m getting there, Hael. Hold the fuck on.” Rich lifted the paper up again, victorious. “Now, me and Jake have been saving these for several years now — he laminated them for me. Once we were free we were going to ride the train all the way to the end of the line and never come back.” He handed the tickets to Michael. Michael wobbled them just a little bit. “Take the train to the sixth stop — the wetlands — and look for Jenna and Christine. They’ll help you. That’s all I can say.”

Michael shot an apprehensive glance at the tickets in his hand. “Are you sure about this, Rich?”

Rich waved him away. “We can always get more tickets. Besides, wasn’t like I was gonna use them anytime soon.” He floated up on feet made of fire to stare directly into Michael’s eyes, his expression stern. “I’ll take care of Eremia here, Hael, but I’m counting on you to help him.”

Michael swallowed roughly. “I will.” He gripped the tickets so tightly in his fist he felt the sharp edges cutting into his palm. “He’s saved me so many times since I got here. I want to save him too.”

Rich grinned. “Now that’s some fucking hero talk.”

* * *

The first thing Michael did when he got back upstairs was run to the worker quarters and grab his hoodie, throwing it on over his uniform and sliding both the bottle and the train tickets safely into the front pocket. If he was going to risk his life (again) to save Miah he might as well feel comfortable while he did so.

The next thing he did was cry because Jesus Christ he was terrified.

To be fair to himself, he’s been terrified since he first got here. He doesn’t think his mood ever dialled down the horror scale once since he stepped into the fucking tunnel his mom was so obsessed with. Even in the handful of moments where he felt content, there was an underlying note of pure terror that lingered in the back of his mind, easy to ignore but still prominently there.

This was kind of a different terrifying, though. It swam and burned at his gut like pooling lava, sloshing up and up and up his throat until he was coughing harshly against the floorboards. He knew he didn’t have a lot of time to waste but he really needed to get it all out of his system. If he broke down in the middle of his adventure quest then what kind of fucking anime protagonist was he?

Once he was done he wiped his tears away with the sleeve of his hoodie, took a deep breath and walked out. He couldn’t run from this and he won’t. He ran from his old school, he tried to run from the spirit world, he ran like hell from Squip. It was time he stopped running.

The bathhouse was bustling when he made his way back down to the main floor, only the vibes were significantly different than what they were. People were running, bustling back and forth, but this time with a touch of hysterics and fear. Michael stumbled as a woman in a kimono slammed into him as she ran from the hallway that everyone seemed to be gathered in, lining the walls with trembling figures supporting the weight of dozens of extravagant food platters. Michael spotted the foreman in all his toadish nature, hand practically attached to his forehead with how often he reached up to wipe the sweat from his toad brow in the 3 seconds Michael had him in eyeshot.

Before he could move on, the foreman spotted him too. “HAEL! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?”

Michael, surprisingly, didn’t jump. He turned to face the infuriated foreman, shaking his sweaty handkerchief right in his face. “You are to report to Squip immediately! You’ve gone and let a No Face into the bathhouse!”

Michael blinked. “Shit, did I?” His memories of the last couple of days flashed through him. He snapped his fingers. “Oh, the klepto!”

“Yes, yes, I’m glad you remember the _monster_ you brought upon us, you filthy human,” the foreman thundered, throwing a hand behind him to point down the hall where another gaggle of women ran screaming from around the corner, startling the rest of the workers that lined the hall.

Michael clicked his tongue as the foreman continued to rant. “Not even Squip can control it, it just keeps asking for you. Gods know why it wants anything to do with you of all things. Now get over there and control it.” He grabbed Michael by the arm, thankfully with the hand not holding the drenched kerchief, and dragged him down the hallway. Michael could feel the burn of stares in the back of his head but for some reason and he pushed down the nauseous feelings that rocketed through his body as they rounded the corner and came to a stop at one of the luxury suites.

Squip was already standing there, stock still and menacing with a stormy expression marring their face. Their sneer tightened at the sight of Michael. “You.”

Michael refused to back down and levelled Squip with a glare of his own, the sound of Miah’s begging screams echoing in his head. “Buenos Dias, motherfucker. What’s the sitch?”

People gasped. The foreman looked like he was about to faint. Squip looked affronted, their twisted sneer deepening. Michael felt oddly vindicated.

“The _“sitch”_ is that you let this _creature_ into my establishment. Figures. I let one disgusting creature crawl in and he opens the door for another one.”

“And you need me to fix the little issue here?”

“I _need you_ to remove the tumour from this bathhouse immediately. Afterwards, we may… _talk_ about your continued service to this company.”

Michael shot them finger guns. The foreman actually fainted. “Sounds super. I’ll get right on that.” He slid open the door and glanced back, wanting to get one more word in. “Sipsipin ang aking titi, Squip.” He shut the door in their face.

The first thought Michael had when he looked out at the room was one of mild disgust. The room was trashed. Plates piled high almost to the ceiling, an array of cold abandoned foodstuffs mushed in piles in between where the plates and bowls meet, dirty nuggets of gold scattered on the ground. Even some of the tapestries that hung on the wall were filthy from spilt food and dirt from outside smeared across its once flawless surface.

Michael was so fixated on the state of the room he almost missed the No Face, which would have been an impressive feat since she was hard to miss. Long and looming and mildly terrifying. Her body was composed of a watery flesh that swirled and shimmered with black ooze that occasionally made a deep, watery sound when she moved. It curled up into a neck that ended with the same mask, unchanging, looking down at him. Her limbs — that she now had — were black and spindly like spider legs, bent at an angle that looked almost painful. Despite her nightmarish appearance, she seemed strangely calm and business-like.

Michael breathed out slowly. “Soo, how’s it going?”

No Face laughed, watery as if she were behind a sheet of water. “It’s nice to be speaking with you, Hael.”

“You couldn’t before?”

“I’m… borrowing someone else's voice for the meantime.” She shifted from her crouching position, moving her face a little closer to Michael. “I might have gotten carried away in my attempts to gain your attention.”

Michael swallowed. “And why have you been?”

“You’re different than the other bathhouse workers. You let me in, accepted my help — even if it was fleeting. You’re the one that’s going to change things.”

“Whaaaat does that mean?”

“Nothing at the moment.”

Michael huffed out a sarcastic laugh, pressing the heel of his hand against his mouth. “Y’know, I expected you to be a bit more… I don’t know… demonic? Because of how everyone’s treating you?”

No Face seemed to roll her eyes. Michael had no idea how he correctly translated it with her mask and all. “Pussies, the lot of them. See a big girl demanding big things, they scatter. I wasn’t always like this, y’know?” She shifted again, plopping herself down into a sitting position. “I was cursed. I won’t get into my tragic backstory but I don’t look anything like this normally. My best friend came here looking for me and she didn’t even recognise me before she left. She did leave you something, though.”

“Oh.” Michael reached into his pocket, brushing his fingers against the cold surface of the bottle but not retrieving it. “How did you know about that?”

“I know a lot of things. I also know her. Never misses a chance to help.”

“Do you know what it is?”

No Face tilted her head. The mask stared blankly forward but Michael got the impression that she was staring right at him. “Medicine. I can’t say any more.”

“Helpful,” Michael muttered, his handing coming up to fiddle with the stings of his hoodie. “So, rewinding back to you wanting to get my attention.”

“Oh, yes.” She moved much, much closer, stooping down to his level to look him right in the face. Michael shuffled back just a little. “I need you to take me to the wetland.”

“I— … what?”

“Take me to the wetland. On the train.”

Michael blinked. “Whyyy couldn’t you go by yourself?”

No Face glanced off to the side, sheepish. “I couldn’t get a ticket,” she mumbled. Michael almost laughed. “Whatever. I need to get to wetlands. Do you have tickets?”

“I.. do… I needed to go there anyway to help a friend.” Michael glanced up at No Face curiously. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Jenna and Christine are, would you?”

No Face flinched. “I might… will we go?”

Michael inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, and shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

“Yay!” No Face celebrated, throwing her hands up. Her body jiggled and jittered with the motion, making her look like a balloon filled with black ink. It was the weirdest thing Michael had witnessed by far, bathhouse be damned. “I do need a sip of that medicine my friend gave you, though.”

“Oh, uh, sure.” He withdrew the hand that had been fiddling with his hoodie strings and reached into his pocket, drawing the bottle out swiftly. He had half a bottle left, swirling in the bottle almost mockingly. “I was going to use this to help my parents.”

No Face offered him what he interpreted as a sympathetic expression. “I’m sorry, kid, I just really need it now. It’ll help get rid of, uh… all of this monster nonsense.” She looked vaguely pained as she spoke, scrunching up into herself like a cowering child. Michael was shot with sympathy and he cursed his bleeding heart.

“Alright. Catch.” The bottle soared through the air for only a moment before No Face caught it in her spidery hands. Michael shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets, despondent.

No Face shook the bottle a little and somehow smiled. “Sorry in advance for this. It’ll get messy really fast.”

Michael perked up, vaguely concerned. “Um. How messy, exactly?”

That was how Michael found himself darting down the stairs and sprinting through hallways, being followed by a screeching, vomiting No Face. The second she swallowed the medicine in the bottle she went livid, crying out a thrashing around in the room, not unlike Miah had. Her body seemed to be dripping now, trails of black ink staining the floors and the walls wherever she went. Regurgitated food now littered the hallways, mushed up and half chewed and absolutely disgusting. Michael near vomited himself at the sight.

Women screamed and fled out of the way as Michael led the chase down to the main floor and redirected No Face down the emptiest corridor in eyeshot and down the stairs that wound next to the elevator. Which just so happened to lead down to the boiler room. _Fuck._ Michael spun on his heel and shot up a conveniently placed stairwell that took him up and over the boiler room entrance, leading the two of them deeper into the internals of the bathhouse. Michael was panting like a dog in seconds. _You’re fucking welcome, Richard._

Michael flew down the stairs, bursting into a back room and using pure instinct to navigate his way towards an exit of any sort. The only real benefit he could see at that moment was finding his shoes and jeans in the trash. Which, for all intents and purposes, was fucking rude of them.

The shrieks of workers and patrons alike were audible from where he was, sprinting like a madman down, down, down towards the very bottom of the bathhouse’s complex structures, bouncing off the walls and the millions of staircases Michael contemplated jumping down. He could only imagine how Squip reacted to the chaos. He didn’t exactly stop to take a peek.

“Should have just gone out the front fucking door, I’m an _idiot!”_

He grabbed the edge of a tight corner as he ran past, using the momentum to hopefully fling himself around the bend. He almost tripped the fuck over but the crash of No Face running into the wall behind him made it slightly worth it.

Michael presumed it was a maintenance room he’d burst into if the cogs and machinery were any indications. There were people there too, unfortunately, engineers carrying boxes of tools and parts or scrubbing the machines clean of oil and rust. Michael screamed his apologies as they all barrelled out of the way, comically in sync, as he rocketed past with a vomiting shadow in his wake. He burst through another door and jumped the stairs. No Face was starting to slow down, petering along and only occasionally spewing sludge uncaringly on any surface in eyeshot as opposed to the absolute firehose she was 3 minutes ago. Michael spared a glance back before continuing to jog ahead, narrowly avoiding smacking straight into what looked like a metal service door. Light shone through from the cracks under the door. He decided to take his chances.

Michael burst through the service door leading out to a platform that seemed to hover just above the ocean that covered the entire spirit world. His momentary confusion evaporated at the sight of the steep cliffs that loomed over him — surrounding him completely, as well as the bottom of the bridge visible from where he stood almost directly under it. He could just see the edges of the market, sprawled across the cliff's edge as close as comfortably possible and a rock dislodged itself from the face of the cliff, plummeting down into the water with an echoing _splash_. It was almost theatrical how dramatic it was. Michael shook his head redirected his focus.

Squinting in the sunlight, he could just make out the train tracks obscured by the rippling waves. It wasn't even far from the platform, held up by what could be a sea bank — a mound of gravel and sand lifting the tracks up so that they were only partially submerged in the water. Michael wasted no time, tucking his folded jeans as best as he could in his pocket and keeping a tight grip on his shoes, he took a running jump towards the train tracks, leaping across a gap of water that looked to be just a little too deep to wade through.

Michael wasn’t an Olympian. His heels clipped the edge of the tracks and he fell on his ass in the shallow water close by, liquid immediately seeping into his shorts. Fucking damnit. Michael growled, picking himself back up just in time to see No Face clamber onto the concrete platform and spit what looked like a frog wearing a dress into the water. Michael clicked his tongue and elected to ignore it. She looked infinitely calmer, too. No longer clamouring and snarling. Michael took it as a sign to finally relax.

The train station was just a short walk away, sitting peacefully in the middle of the ocean looking so fucking normal with its cute little roofed sitting area and the public garbage bin and a timetable poster Michael wanted to cry with delight. With a glance back to see if No Face was following him, Michael walked on the tracks, occasionally bouncing up to balance himself on the metal parts like a child because fuck it. Why not? This was probably the most peace he was going to get while Miah was comatose in Rich’s boiler room.

The first thing he did when reaching the station platform was shove his jeans up over his loose work shorts followed by his well-worn and well-loved sneakers. No socks, he dies like men. Then he patted down his pockets, sighing in relief as he felt the laminated tickets pressed against his hand through the material. He moved to sit on the bench in the shade, watching No Face weirdly swim towards the station like a snake that thought it had arms and legs.

The train rounded the corner obscured by the cliff sides, making the water ripple rhythmically under its wheels. Michael pressed the heels of his palms against his face, mentally preparing himself again for mild social interaction as No Face ghosted next to him, having reached the platform in time.

“You’re minus a voice now, right?” Michael asked her absently. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her nod solemnly. He sighed again, less in relief. “Behave yourself, then.”

He pointedly ignored the somehow indignant look her masked face shot him as the train rolled to a stop in front of them. The doors slid open with a mechanical hiss and a clanking shudder indicating the age of the train. It looked pretty old too, now that Michael was seeing it up close, like a cross between a tram and a steam train from the 1920s, painted a rusty red and chipping sunset orange. The man that stood in the open doorway was shadowy but not in the same way No Face was a shadow; more transparent, less rippling, like a solid grey shape occupying space with a strong humanoid shape, clothing and all.

“Uhh, two, please? To the wetlands. Please.”

He held out his hand and Michael gingerly passed him the laminated paper. The man paused and wobbled them a little. Michael was, once again, momentarily delighted.

The tickets were put through a little shredder that sat fixed to the inside of the door and the man stepped aside, holding out an arm to indicate that they were welcomed aboard. The inside of the train was a sheer juxtaposition to the outside, clean and retro with pretty lighting bouncing off the polished golden railings and intricate designs carved into the warm wooden fixtures on the sides of the roof. The seats looked especially comfortable, wine red and plush situated on gorgeous polished dark wood facing to the side as opposed to the front.

Another grey figure, a woman with a large shadowy purse, moved aside to free up space for Michael and No Face to sit. He smiled as sincerely as he could in thanks and sunk into the seat, watching No Face slid in beside him, quiet as ever.

The train whistled and hissed, the hull shuddering as it crawled into motion. Michael craned his head around to stare out the window behind him. The ocean drifted past, shivering in the sunlight, and Michael heaved one last sigh before turning around to press himself further into the seat. He hoped things would go a bit smoother when he gets to the wetlands.

Then he remembered a crucial detail. Rich never told him where to find Jenna and Christine, or what they looked like.

Fuck.

* * *

When Michael was stressed he watched hospital dramas. He didn't know why they helped him but somehow they did. Listening to Dr. House spout medical jargon or watching surgeons running around in Grey's Anatomy sucked him into a world where his biggest problem suddenly became if the patient on the screen was going to live and not what they were saying about him in school. His favourite show was The Good Doctor. He connected strongly with the characters, felt for them when they encountered roadblocks, cried when they were in pain, smiled when they succeeded. It took him away from his own life and made it about theirs for 40 blissful minutes at a time. The magic of episodic drama, he supposes.

Sitting in the rickety carriage of a ghost train, Michael wouldn't say he was stressed more so he was severely anxious, borderline stressed. A very specific and important distinction. He didn't need to watch the residents of St. Bonaventure hatch a medically insane procedure theory to save someone from some kind of cancer to calm himself down at the moment but he felt like a few more minutes waiting in this carriage would certainly get him to that stage. The bouncing of his leg grew a touch more erratic as he pulled the edge of his hood over to chew on it absently, letting his saliva dampen the fabric slightly before pulling away in discomfort. He wished he had his bracelet, the one with the chewy thing. He lost it before the move, took it as a sign of bad luck. Ha!

They’d passed by several stations since they boarded, and though none of them was station 6 he felt happier the further away he was from the bathhouse. Though that feeling was temporary as every time he felt a rush of triumph he was immediately reminded by his traitorous brain that he’d have to go back there at some point for his parents.

Oddly enough, that information wasn’t the thing that scared him. Michael had newfound confidence, a bravado that wrapped around his shoulders like a blanket. After the shit he’d been through, facing Squip? Too fucking easy.  His extremely prominent and completely justified fear of Squip as a person was nothing against the white-hot burning hatred he harboured for the Keanu Reeves impersonator. The real thing that scared him was what they might do when he came back. Not necessarily to him, but to his parents. To Rich and Jake, to Chloe and Brooke, to the nice woman who gave him tea that one time, to the guy who found his glasses in the River Goddess’s wreckage. To Eremia.

Everyone had established Squip as a powerful foe, the main villain in Michael’s weird, nonsensical story arc. He wasn't scared of them, he was scared of their retaliation.

Which was, like, ten times worse.

This internal monologue wasn’t helping him in the slightest.

The sky grew dark as night fell in the spirit world. Eventually, city lights danced across the glass of the window behind him, shimmering across his jeans and casting colour shadows against the floor. It must have been mere hours since he boarded the train but it felt like years, time blurring and stretching and ripping at the seams. It made Michael all the more anxious, the bouncing of his leg which at one point had a steady beat to it rocketed off into an entire kick drum solo. No Face nudged his knee a little and gave him a somewhat confused look. Michael shrugged and craned his neck back around to watch the scenery pass by the window.

Who even puts windows behind seats in trains? What kind of ass-backwards design was this?

Michael almost fell asleep when they arrived at Station 6. The wetlands. No Face shook him awake impatiently, motioning towards the door. Michael groaned. “Yes, alright. I got you, dude.”

He thanked the conductor as he exited because people who don’t thank drivers are monsters in Michael’s humble opinion, stepping onto the stone platform that made up Station 6. It was almost identical to the bathhouse station save for the awning above the seating area, which was green instead of red. Not to mention the gigantic wetland area that surrounded the station, dark and thick with trees and brush. There were two paths that trailed off into the brush and Michael automatically turned to No Face, who examined the left trail thoroughly before promptly moving off to follow the right. Michael huffed and followed.

The trail was dark and winding, twisting around trees and shrubs in a way that seemed completely random yet No Face stayed adamant on the path. The entire wetland was alive with noise; wind whistling, bugs chirping, wildlife rustling. It would have been peaceful if Michael was so wired, cataloguing every detail and piecing them together with th speed and accuracy of a data analyst jacked up on LSD and 12 cups of coffee. He yelped as he tripped over a root, ripping his hands out of his pockets to steady himself. No Face didn’t stop in her trek, leaving Michael jogging to catch up.

“If only I had the foresight to take my phone with me when we left the car,” Michael mumbled, kicking a… something on the ground. It was too dark to see but he assumed it was a rock and not some kind of animal. He hoped. “I miss that thing. It’s got games, a flashlight, the ability to call 911. Though I doubt calling the police on some bathhouse demon would be very helpful. What would I even say? “Hello, cops police? Keanu _Grieves_ is trying to kill me and my family, please send ghost cops to 96000 Hell Avenue, New Jersey at your earliest convenience!” I’d be the joke of all Middletown and I’d literally just moved there!”

He kicked something else. It flew a few feet into the air before hitting a tree with a dense _thunk._ Definitely a rock. “I don’t think there’d be service anyway. The spirit world doesn’t fuck to Verizon. None of that AT&T. Fucking stone age, this place. But, like, how can you not have phones but you guys have trains? And elevators? And— and fuckin’ _slushie machines!_ Miah said y'all have slushie machines, what’s up with that? Convenient communication, oh not at all. But a fucking _cold beverage?_ Of fucking course, right this way!” Michael paused for a moment. “Am I rambling? I feel like I’m rambling. I’d say I’m sorry but really I’m not. Are you bothered by it, uh.. No Face? Are you cool with me calling you that? Is that, like, ghost racist or something?”

No Face ignored him. Probably for the better. Michael kicked at the ground again. He made contact with nothing. “Definitely ghost racist.”

A rhythmic noise caught his attention and his head shot up, high and alert. Like one of those desk birds that drink the water. Weird comparison. Michael shook his head. Focus.

There was a light penetrating the brush. A bouncing light, gold like sunlight or a lit candle, that moved in time to the squeaking and jingling that rang through the wetland like a bell, cutting through the cricket noises like a displaced knife. Michael watched it bounce closer until it was fully in view. A lantern hanging off a long pole stood before them, the light inside shimmering with a life that felt vastly different than just fire. At the end of the pole was a…

“What the fuck.” A human hand. There was a whole pole that ended in a hand, seamlessly attached and apparently a part of the lantern… being? Michael swallowed thickly as the… hand pole bounced a couple of times, almost excitedly, before turning and jumping further down the path. It stopped to see if they were following it and Michael hurried to join No Face and the… hand pole as it lit their path and led them further down. Michael counted his breathing calmly and tried to remind himself that he's seen weirder.

The little thing was helpful, though. Jumping off ahead and waiting patiently for them to catch up before bouncing off again. Michael could finally see his surrounding properly. He had to admit, the place was lovely. Pretty white wood trees with sparkly leaves and blueberry bushes. An optimal picnic spot. Nanay would have been totally fascinated by the flora of this land. Maybe he’d tell her about it one day after he saved them.

Michael barely noticed when they reached the clearing but when he did he was washed away with a sense of relief. There, right before him, was the cutest little cottage he’s ever seen, warm and inviting with white stone walls and a slate roof and little flower beds on every window sill. The lights were on, smoke rising from the chimney, and a nice smell wafted through the air that separated Michael from the nicest thing he’s seen since he’d become trapped in this godless world.

The hand pole jumped jovially as they approached a wooden archway and cobblestone path that led to the door. In one swift, almost impossibly fluid movement, the hand pole leapt up, the pole somehow turning flaccid as it wound itself around the top beam of the archway. The lantern looked extremely normal as it hung in the middle of the beam and Michael felt himself go through all 7 Stages of Grief trying to wrap his head around his entire life up till this point.

No Face wasted exactly zero (0) time, nearly catapulting herself down the path towards the cottage. Michael brushed his skepticism away but followed dutifully at a safe distance as No Face barrelled into the door, slamming her fists against the wood hard enough to splinter it. Michael winced. Bit rude of her.

There was a clatter and a bang from inside the cottage and footsteps rushed towards the door as a surprisingly light, sweet voice screamed, “Hold your fucking horses! I’m coming!” Michael genuinely startled as the door swung open, causing No Face to fall with it into the cottages’ foyer.

A familiar woman stood in the doorway, swathed in a wine red shawl and a hairbrush clutched in her tiny hand and poised like a weapon. Michael recognised her immediately. “You’re the River Goddess!” he exclaimed, pointing at the woman like a huge idiot. “You gave me a soda!”

The woman blinked at him, lowering her hairbrush slightly. “It's you. The human from the bathhouse.” She smiled a little, soft and coy. “You solved my stink spirit puzzle.”

Michael smiled back, bright and laced with sarcasm he couldn't contain. “Yes and it was horrifying, thank you.”

The Goddess giggled, leaning against the wood of the doorway casually, presumably seeing no threat in Michael's socially awkward form. “You're a ways from the bathhouse. What brings you here? How did you even get here?”

Michael breathed out harshly, making a _pbbbt_ noise with his lips as the air escaped his lungs. He had no idea how to speak to an actual goddess he didn’t previously believe in. “Uhh… the train? Like I got tickets from a… I think we're friends. Aaand I got on the spooky ghost train and traversed the spooky ghost world to help another friend and also a sort of acquaintance who is…” Michael trailed off, glancing down at No Face. “Yeah. I think she needs help.” He gestured towards the lump of inky black still sprawled unmoving on the floor at the woman's feet.

“Oh, goodness,” the woman stepped back, dropping her hairbrush as she leaned down to help No Face to her feet. “A No Face? All the way out here?”

“We came from the bathhouse, both of us,” Michael explained awkwardly, shoving his hands into his pockets. He rocked on the balls of his feet as the woman stood on her tiptoes to examine No Face’s mask cautiously. “She told me she was cursed to be like that.”

“No Face’s generally are cursed,” she mused, running a finger over the purple markings that framed the masks eye holes. “Come inside. I have just the thing.”

The Goddess led the two of them inside her cottage. Instantly, Michael was hit with a sense of safety, like reaching shelter during a thunderstorm. The room was cozy and lived in, with the most eye-catching feature being a large, ornate mahogany table right in the middle of the room laden with baskets of fresh fruit and flowers adorning its surface. The space was open, with a kitchenette directly to Michael’s right complete with a woodfire oven, a stove and a row of shelves tucked neatly against the wall. Pots lined the wall artistically above the stove, the surfaces shining as the fire flickered from the oven, setting the entire room with a warm glow. To Michael’s right was sitting area, complete with a plush rug, soft looking armchairs and a floor to ceiling bookshelf. There was a sweet and spicy scent in the air that reminded Michael of the bathhouse without the threat of death at every turn. MIchael felt his entire body relax.

The Goddess motioned for No Face to sit at the table as she flitted towards the kitchenette, grabbing ingredients from the shelves as she did. Michael lingered at the doorway before gingerly making his way towards the table as well, making sure to close the door behind him because he wasn’t a fucking animal.

No Face shot Michael a look that he interpreted as gratitude. Michael shrugged. “I was coming here anyway, dude. Don’t worry about it.”

The Goddess peeked over her shoulder. “What was that?”

“Oh, no, sorry. I was taking to No Face.”

She hummed and continued to work, mixing something in a pot boiling on the stove. “Do you not know who she was before she was cursed?”

Michael shook his head before he remembered she couldn’t see it. “No, I literally met her a day ago.” Michael clicked his tongue a couple times, absently surveying his surroundings. A thought came to his head suddenly. “Um, do you have a name or something? I’m Michael.”

“I’m so sorry, where are my manners?” She covered the pot with a large red leaf for some reason and turned to face Michael, leaning up against the counter behind her. “My name’s Christine, River Goddess and resident curse-breaker. It’s nice to meet you, Michael.”

Michael perked up. “Oh! You’re who I was looking for. I wasn’t sure before.”

The Goddess with the oddly normal human name tilted her head. “You weren’t sure? Didn’t you come with the No Face?”

“Yeah, but she didn’t tell me she needed help from you specifically, just that she needed help and that she could take me to you. I didn’t wanna assume anything.”

“That’s alright. How about I finish up here and you can tell me I can do for you once I uncurse the No Face.”

Michael glanced over at No Face. She looked pensive and excited somehow. Michael nodded. “Yeah, help her first. But, like, not to be rude or rush you or anything but I’m sort of operating on borrowed time sooo…”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m almost done here.” Christine turned back to the pot just as the red leaf suddenly burst into flame, causing Michael to startle. Christine simply waved her hand and the burning shards of leaf were lifted away by an unseen energy, sweeping up into the air before pooling back into the pot. She took a spoon and stirred and mixture a couple of times before withdrawing it carefully, holding it aloft.

She spooned a helping of the mixture up and gestured No Face over, who complied in seconds. Christine held the spoon towards No Face, like a parent presenting a spoonful of medicine to their child, and No Face leaned down, taking almost the entire spoon into her mouth.

The reaction was instantaneous. The shadowy figure of No Face seemed to melt away, lumps of inky black pooling on the ground like disease sludge revealing the figure underneath, glowing and resplendent. Michael had to squint to make out the shape of a short, chubby woman before the light shifted and shimmered, swirling through the air before fading away with little fanfare.

The woman who used to be No Face stretched and yawned, jumping up and down a few times and shaking her arms out. “Gods, it was like being in a permanent blanket burrito in that.” She jumped around for a little bit before turning to face Christine, who was frozen in shock. “Surprise, Chrissy!”

“Jenna!” Christine exclaimed, throwing her arms around the woman in a big bear hug.

Jenna stumbled and laughed, gripping onto the sides of Christine’s dress for support as she returned the hug. “Yes, it’s me. Hi.”

“Hi,” Christine said gently, withdrawing slightly. “I looked for you.”

“I know.”

“You were in the bathhouse this whole time?”

Jenna looked a little sheepish. “More or less. Michael let me in. I watched your little stink spirit performance from the corner.”

Christine turned red. “I had to get in there somehow. It seemed funny.”

Michael decided to chime in there at the reminder of his repressed trauma that he will most definitely need the most therapy for. “Hilarious. Truly. I’ll be laughing all the way to the psych ward at this rate.”

Jenna laughed heartily, turning to face Michael with her arms still around the River Goddess. “You did well there. I actually didn’t expect you to figure it out.”

“I’m a genius, really,” Michael deadpanned. “So you’re Jenna. Rich told me you could help me.”

Jenna’s face lit up. “Richard fucking Goranski. How I’ve missed that little bastard. I’m glad he still remembers me.”

The two women sat across from Michael at the table, close enough to each other that their shoulder were touching. Michael felt a little bad for cutting their reunion short but he needed this. “Do you know a guy who works for Squip at the bathhouse? Eremia? He’s really pale, brownish hair, kind of awkward, very cute?”

Jenna’s face scrunched up in anger. Beside her, Christine’s smile fell. “I know what happened to him. I wish I’d done more to convince him not to go to that horrible place. Why? Did something happen?”

Michael took a deep breath. “Squip’s… torturing him. I’m here to find a way to break the curse that’s on him. Rich said that to break it I needed to find out his real name.”

There was a pause as Jenna and Christine looked at each other, having a silent conversation with each other. Christine stared at Michael warily. “That is true. Names are powerful here, more powerful than spells or curses. Taking someone's name is like cutting off all their limbs. It’s highly frowned upon.”

“But somehow Squip got away with it and they just _keep_ getting away with it,” Jenna growled, her expression twisting into pure malice.

Michael swallowed roughly. He could feel a panic attack coming on, the dry heat clawing up his throat like bark rubbing against his oesophagus, but he powered through it. “Do you know his real name?”

Jenna scoffed, her face changing from hatred to indignation like a light switch. “Of course I know his name. I’m the Goddess of Communication, basically invented speech itself. I know everything.” She leaned in, studying Michael’s face carefully. Michael felt her gaze pierce through his very soul. “But can I trust you with this?”

Michael frowned. “I broke into Squip’s office to save him. I travelled the spirit world to save him. I’m going to save him, with or without your help.”

Jenna scrutinised his face for a moment before breaking into a wide grin. “You’re whipped.” She ignored Michael’s spluttering and leaned back, pressing more towards Christine’s side comfortably. “I’ll tell you his name. Listen carefully, please.” She paused, glancing over at Christine again. The River Goddess gave her a firm nod and she sighed, turning back to Michael. “His real name — his full real name — is Jeremiah Heere, Lord of the Moon and Sea.”

Michael’s breath shuddered. “Jeremiah Heere,” he repeated quietly. He could almost taste the name on his tongue, strong and sweeping. It suited him, in an odd way. A thought jolted in Michael’s head as he sounded the same out again. Jeremiah. _Miah_. He felt something warm and bright erupt in his chest.

Michael laughed. “It’s so… normal.”

The women laughed. “Yeah. We can’t really explain it. It’s a spirit thing.” Christine giggled, pressing her face to Jenna’s shoulder. Jenna ruffled her hair.

“So, what’s your plan now?”

Michael bit his lip. “Get back to the bathhouse. I need to tell Miah.”

Christine shot him a worried look. “You know the train is one way?”

“Who fucking designs… y’know what? Fuck it. I’ll fucking walk along the tracks if I have to. I’m getting back to that goddamn bathhouse.”

Jenna and Christine shared a smile. Christine rose from her seat, squeezing Jenna’s shoulder as she passed her. “I’ll make you some tea. You can stay the night and leave in the morning if you want to.”

Michael chewed on his lip. “I really should get a head start. I’m not really tired anyway.” That was a lie. Michael was _exhausted_ but he’d feel more guilty if he stayed.

Christine looked pensive. “At least let me pack you something to eat. And maybe I can take you part of the way? It’s quite a walk.”

Michael opened his mouth to answer when a swooping roar resounded from outside making the room shiver from its sheer volume. From the table, Jenna smirked as she watched Michael stumbled towards the door. She turned to Christine with a smile. “I don’t think he’ll be needing that.”

Miah in his dragon form hovered triumphantly in the yard. He seemed healthier in the moonlight, powerful and resplendent, his body coiled and fluttering like a ribbon in the breeze. A rumbling purr rippled through the air as Miah bobbed and curled happily, floating gently towards Michael with cat-like grace. Michael’s heart swelled, his breath falling out of his mouth as he stumbled towards the dragon, meeting him halfway in a one-sided hug and burying his face against his soft green mane. Michael felt his entire body shiver and shudder as pure relief washed over him, stress and adrenaline draining away.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.” It was a breathless chant, his face pressed into Miah’s neck and trying not to break down sobbing. Miah purred comfortingly, nuzzling Michael’s shoulder. Michael could feel the bumps from the electrical scars under the smooth fur and his hackles rose in momentary anger until Miah shifted and sneezed, causing Michael to giggle wetly, sliding his grip up to the curves of Miah’s cheeks. He drew back, staring into crystal blue eyes before pressing his forehead against the dragon's muzzle. “I’m so glad you’re okay, you have no idea.”

Miah shifted a little against his face, rubbing his cheek against Michael’s own to wipe away a tear. Michael hadn’t even noticed he was crying. He sniffed, drawing back to rub at his face and fix his glasses. Miah had touched down on the ground, body still coiling around Michael protectively.

“I’m guessing you won’t need that lift?” Christine’s voice chimed from the doorway of her home. Jenna peeked over from behind her shoulder, aiming a bright smile at the two.

Michael chuckled, still vainly trying to stem his tears. “Yeah. Thank you, though. For everything, I can’t… I can’t thank you enough.”

Jenna waved him away, sticking her hand through the loop of Christine’s arm. “Don’t mention it, kid. Now get out of here. Go save your parents.” She looked up at Miah, her eyes brimming with a softness Michael wouldn't expect from her. “It’s good to see you again, lizard boy. Take care.”

Miah huffed slightly, a mixture of gratitude and confusion as Michael crawled up his back and settled himself against the length of his back. He shuffled forwards, only slightly awkward, and gingerly grabbed onto Miah’s horns for stability. Miah roared valiantly and — if Michael was to be completely honest — totally showing off as he lifted them both up into the air, coiling his body a few times and letting the moonlight ripple over his fur. Michael rolled his eyes and reached down to pat Miah’s snout. “Back to the bathhouse, yeah?”

Miah rumbled in agreement and shot off into the sky, allowing Michael a few moments to wave cheerfully at the goddess’s below before they were up in the clouds.

* * *

The air tasted colder the higher up the stratosphere they ascended. The wind blowing against Michael’s face stuck him like tiny icicles, piercing his cheeks until he was forced to duck his head into Miah’s mane to escape from it. Miah didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he encouraged it by floating ever higher and ducking down occasionally, like a boat bobbing on soft waves.

Michael pressed his cheek to Miah’s fur, watching the world slowly float by below them. The ocean was boarded by floating islands flush with trees and greenery, sprouting up from the water in spiralling structures that didn’t look natural but somehow didn’t fire off all of Michael’s denial synapses. If he squinted he could just see the train, travelling down its tracks on what he assumed was a forever looping route and leaving twin water trails as it went.

The whole ordeal only lasted a few hours but to Michael it felt like years. The looming dread of facing off against Squip again pressed itself so tightly against Michael’s chest he felt like he was suffocating in open air. He buried his face further into Miah’s mane and whined distressingly, gaining the dragon's attention. He fluttered in the wind, curling and twisting his body in impossible ways to brush a claw softly against his head. Michael chuckled. “Thanks, dude. I’m alright.”

Miah snorted, the tones of condescension leading Michael to rightfully believe he didn’t believe him. Michael sighed for a minute straight, leaning his entire body against Miah’s back in vague exhaustion. “I dunno, Miah. I don’t wanna rant at you or anything, but just… Squip.” Michael made a vague hand movement in the air, completely out of Miah’s eyeshot. Michael still got the feeling that Miah rolled his eyes with enthused agreement. “I know, right? Is there any way to get rid of them?” Miah shrugged, his back undulating with the motion. Michael blew a raspberry. “There’s gotta be something. I mean, they’ve got a body? Think they’re impervious to knife?” Miah made a strange chuckling noise and Michael beamed, laughing with him. “Should I just, fuckin’, run up and stab them? Fuck, that’d save a lot of time.” He sighed, crawling up to settle himself between Miah’s horns and peer down at his muzzle. “I’ll think of something. I’m smart, kind of.” Miah huffed another laugh.

Michael rolled his eyes and rested his chin against the top of Miah’s head. If only he could just stab Squip. He doesn’t usually carry knives on his person and he was only 79% sure that Squip could even be harmed in that way. It was like in the movies — when the bad guy gets stabbed it never seemed to slow them down. Michael clicked his tongue. Would hurting them or killing them even change anything? There was no guarantee that getting rid of Squip would lift any of the curses they _so kindly_ bestowed on people, turning people into pigs or stealing their names—

Wait.

Michael’s a fucking dumbass.

He scooted further still, pressing his face lightly against Miah’s skull as he spoke. “Hey so, Rich filled me in on the whole curse thing. How the only way to fully break out of it is to be given your name back.” He felt Miah shift midair, visibly uncomfortable with the topic. Michael reached down and patted the side of his neck. “Sorry, I just.. The River Goddess, Christine.. The whole reason why I travelled all the way there was because Rich told me she could help with that. And she did.” Like the bastard he was, Michael paused for dramatic effect. He felt Miah tilt his head upwards in interest.

“Your name is Jeremiah Heere.”

As soon as those words left his mouth, Miah stilled. The only movement Michael could see was his eyes widening before a shattering noise pierced his ears. Michael jolted, panic ripping through him as Miah seemed to fall apart. Literally. His fur seemed to smooth over and harden, like the scales of a shedding snake, falling and crumbling to dust. Michael scrambled for purchase, his fingers sliding over empty space as dragon Miah seemed to evaporate under him, leaving only his human form plummeting down towards the sea with him. Michael shrieked, flailing frantically in his efforts to snag hold of any part of Miah.

The wind whipped past Michael face at an alarming rate as his fingers finally caught a hold of Miah’s arm, pulling the lighter boy towards him and shifting his grip. “Miah? Miah, please, I’ve endured _way too much_ to die here in possibly the most unheroic way.”

Miah’s grip suddenly changed, shifting to Michael’s hands and encompassing them tightly. Michael could see his eyes now, shining with tears that tracked up his face due to the velocity that they were falling. He visibly held back a sob. Michael chest tightened and he felt like punching something. “Are you… alright?”

Miah pulled him closer, laughing in between halted sobs. Even in the times where he was the most content, Michael had still never seen him this hysterically happy. “Of-of _course_ I’m— Michael, I’m s-so— Gods, you have no idea. Just— thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you. You’re a miracle, Michael.”

Michael barked out a nervous, startled laugh reflexively, not used to this level of praise. He pressed his forehead against Miah’s, his eyes burned with unshed tears. “You don’t need to thank me. I’m just… so glad you’re okay.”

They held onto each other as they rocketed to earth, imminent death pushed to the back of his mind. As they neared the surface of the water Miah shifted his grip once more, sliding his hands down the length of Michael’s arms to his shoulders and as he did so, they seemed to slow in their descent as if they were being cushioned by something unseen. Michael’s brain didn’t catch up to the fact that it was Miah who was making them float until they were fully upright, skirting their feet over the sea water.

“Could you always do this? I kind of got the impression that you could only fly in dragon.. mode.”

Miah chuckled, wiping his remaining tears away with his free hand. “Sort of. Never to this extent.”

“So you’re even more talented now that Squip doesn’t own you? You’re incredible, Miah.” Michael frowned, glancing over at him from the corner of his eye. “Should I… call you Jeremiah? Is that weird?”

Miah (Jeremiah?) smiled gently, moving discreetly to lean against Michael. His voice was soft as he spoke but the words felt right, like he was finally coming home. “Call me Jeremy.”

* * *

The bathhouse was still when they touched down on the bridge in the early morning light. Miah (Jeremy. He’s Jeremy) didn’t loosen his grip on Michael’s arm in the slightest, pressing himself ever closer. Michael had the feeling that it was purely for comfort. He wasn’t complaining.

“So, what’s the game plan?” he murmured to Jeremy, not taking his eyes off the eerie silence of the bathhouse.

He felt Jeremy begin to fidget. “Squip’s mad. I can sense it. And they know that we’re back.”

Michael let out a breath. Fuck. “Well, that eliminates the element of surprise. You have any more magic tricks up your sleeve, Jer-bear?”

“A few but they're almost entirely defense based.” Jeremy paused, glancing up at Michael incredulously. “Jer-bear?”

“Needed a new nickname for you.” Nevermind the actual half hour he’d set aside on the flight back wracking his brain for another cute nickname to call the moon boy. Michael shrugged and hoped it came across as nonchalant but obviously wasn’t successful as Jeremy laughed quietly at his expense, expression brightening significantly. Michael counted that as a win. “So, surprising Squip is a bust. No magical girl transformation, much to my dismay.” Jeremy snorted. Michael grinned. “Are we actually stabbing them?”

“You can try. I’ve seen them get hurt before so they _can_ be stabbed.”

Michael laughed nervously. “Stabbage confirmed, then. Think we could sneak in and grab a knife real quick?”

Jeremy shook his head, visibly biting back a laugh. “They’re bound to be waiting for us inside. We need a plan.”

“Ugh, my favourite.” Michael tilted on his heels, leaning his body against Jeremy’s lithe form. He rested his head on Jeremy’s shoulder, letting it roll back as he ran scenarios through his head. In every single one, they lost no matter how he twisted and turned it. He groaned. Truly he was far too pessimistic for this responsibility. “I dunno. I’m fresh out of plans.”

“Well, we have to think of something—”

No sooner did the words leave Jeremy’s mouth that a _bang_ echoed through the air, rebounding in their ears painfully. The top far window of the bathhouse had slammed open, knocking against the wall loudly. One by one, every single window of the bathhouse opened with a smash, overlapping and mixing into a cacophony of noise that struck Michael in his very soul. Jeremy only seemed to grow more and more uncomfortable as the path of open windows ran down the building like a stack of dominos, ending on the two just above the ever-intimidating double doors that led into the maw of the bathhouse. They too slammed open, revealing a long looming shadow that seemed to exude pure rage. Michael knew who it was in an instant.

Squip stepped out into the light, their suit pressed as per usual but styled far more extravagant than Michael had seen. It was pitch black and shimmering in the sun, lines of electric blue ran up and down the lapels of the jacket and the highlights of the tie. Their coattails trailed behind them like the cape of a supervillain and Michael couldn’t help but compare it to every villain he’d ever see in video games, positively dripping with Final Boss vibes. They stood taller than he’d ever seen someone stand, their figure stretched out to unnatural levels. They were going for full intimidation.

Michael clicked his tongue, looking Squip up and down critically. “Alright. Just straight into it, sure. Good thing I did improv at my old high school.”

Beside him, Jeremy flinched so violently he stumbled back, his death grip on Michael’s sleeve tightening even further. Michael moved his free arm to shield Jeremy instinctively, resting his hand comfortingly against his clavicle.

Squip glared down at the two of them, expression frozen in disgust. “How pitiful you are, crawling around this human. I’d almost thought better of you.”

Jeremy flinched again but didn’t move. Michael felt his veins burn. “Leave him the fuck alone.”

They turned their attention to him, their eyes burning directly into his soul. “And _you_ . I’ll take great pleasure in killing you with my bare hands. I don’t think I’ve ever made a bigger mistake than the one I made hiring _you_.”

“Well, glad to be a disappointment,” Michael intoned bitterly, turning back to Jeremy. “Are you alright?”

Jeremy nodded sharply, his hands trembling minutely but his face set in stony determination. Squip made a sound of disgust, gliding closer to them in long, confident strides. Michael tried to push Jeremy further behind him but was impeded by Jeremy himself, who stubbornly stood his ground on shaky knees.

Squip raised an eyebrow as Jeremy stared them down impertinently. “Grown a spine, have you? You think you’re above my authority because you shook off my control one time?” Their voice rose in tone with every word until the were booming, near screaming at the two. By now people had come out to watch, peeking out from balconies, open windows and door frames. Michael could spot Chloe and Brooke in the crowd at the leftmost balcony, shooting them nervous looks.

Jeremy’s shivered like a leaf in the wind but stood tall. “You don’t own me anymore.”

“What did you say?” Deathly calm. The kind of tone that suggests a greater pain is yet to come.

“I said, _you don’t_ _own me anymore_ ,” Jeremy’s voice struck like a snake, brittle yet sharp as glass. He glared directly in Squip’s eyes, damn near standing on his tip-toes to square off with the fucker. Michael would’ve swooned if he weren't keeping a close eye on Squip.

“Then you’ll perish,” the intoned harshly. Michael brain barely dragged itself out of comparing the words to The Meme when Squip raised an arm, arcs of electricity flashing dangerously from their palms.

Jeremy swore and swiftly moved in front of Michael, lifting his own arms in an X like motion, the air around him swirling and pulsating. Michael had watched enough anime to know where this was going. He didn’t even bother wondering what his life had become, at this point he’d exhausted the hypotheticals.

A film of thin water encompassed them just as Squip fired off a crack of lighting directly at them, the sheer force of it pushing them backwards. Through the ringing in his ears, Michael could make out the distant screams of the bathhouse employees as panic rose like thick, hot air.

Jeremy was still trembling but he held up as Squip’s mouth curled further down into a sneer, sending more lighting rocketing into the watery shield. Jeremy gritted his teeth in anticipation, his hands shaking so violently they were almost a blur. A few stray sparks ran rampant, striking Jeremy in the shoulder and causing him to hiss animalistically, stunning him into dropping the protective barrier.

Squip tsked, eyeing Jeremy with disinterest and mild disappointment. “Sloppy. And after everything I taught you.”

“You taught me jack shit,” Jeremy growled. Michael didn't even have time to be surprised as a whirlwind of lighting spun towards them. Jeremy grunted, crossing his forearm in front of himself and send another thin film of water to shield them.

“Stop blocking. Fight me if you're independent.”

Jeremy didn't grace them with an answer. He swivelled his hand and relaxed them, the water retracting into several contained trails and spinning around him protectively like a kaleidoscopic solar system. Squip launched a few lightning attacks but they never landed, the water intercepting them easily each time. They growled, stepping back to survey their options.

A slow grin worked its way across Squips face and Michael instantly felt a panic begin to rise. “You got your name back, didn’t you? Broke our contract.”

“The contract you _forced_ me to sign.”

Squip waved him away, almost impatiently. “Semantics. It doesn’t matter either way. You are as replaceable as you are useless.”

Jeremy narrowed his eyes dangerously. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Squip snapped their fingers and a roll of paper curled itself into their still closed palm. They pointed it directly at Michael, twiddling the paper mockingly, almost playfully. Michael saw Jeremy's eyes widen in horror and he himself felt like throwing up. “Would you kindly relax for me, Michael Mell.”

Michael instantly felt a tug, like the pulling he felt that morning after he'd woken from a nightmare. But it was strangely weak and unfocused, pulling every which way with as much force as a dripping tap. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Jeremy looking at him in distraught, face drained of colour. Squip stood before him, smug and triumphant. Michael felt a plan hatching.

Michael thanked every bit of his improv classes as he let his body artificially relax and straighten, purposely unfocusing his eyes to hopefully achieve the same glossy look Jeremy's had in the bathhouse.

Honestly, it was a miracle that everyone bought it. Squip grinned at Jeremy like they'd already won. Jeremy stared at Michael, heartbroken. It hurt Michael's soul but he didn't dare so much as twitch.

“Good boy,” Squip intoned almost playfully. Michael mentally gagged. “Come here.”

Michael walked with measured steps, listening as Jeremy choked back a sob. He was so close, he couldn't afford to be weak. He tuned the Squip's evil victory rant out as he hyperfocused on his task. He didn't have much of a plan, just a really bad, crazy, stupid idea that just might work if he had enough luck stored in his system. He dragged his feet as he steadily approached Squip's hulking form. Seriously, when did they get this tall? Were they literally running a spell to make them more intimidating? What a fucking drama queen.

Michael was getting close. He watched carefully as Squip let their guard down, presumably as Jeremy drops his protection spells, now unwilling to fight. Michael felt a little bad for this. A lot bad. Very bad. But it was the best plan he had.

When Michael got close enough he took an inconspicuous breath — in and out, nice and steady — before breaking into a sprint and catching Squip in a fucking chokehold.

Gasps and cries rang in Michael's ear as he scrambled his body around Squip, snaking his arm more firmly around their throat and using his dead weight to pull them backwards towards the edge of the bridge. “You should really check the signatures on your contracts,” Michael gritted, not being able to help himself.

Squip was actually struggling. If he knew that getting them in a goddamn chokehold was the way to defeat them Michael would have done it fucking _ages_ ago. Between the thrashing and the flailing, Michael could pinpoint Jeremy's panicked screeching. He leaned his entire body backwards, further forcing Squip to stumble into the railing of the bridge. Michael felt the wood against his lower back and made a split second decision that was, in all honesty, more stupid than every single other idea he'd ever had in his life put together.

He leaned back fully and, using his feet against the railing as leverage, pitched the both of them off the bridge entirely.

As soon as they were both in the air, Michael let go. Squip tumbled clumsily and because Michael never fucking thinks before he acts, he prays to high heaven that the bastard can't fly. The feeling of wind whipping past his face felt like an old friend as he watched the train tracks below them grow closer and closer with each metre they clear. Michael held his breath.

The tracks stopped getting closer when he hit the halfway mark, dangling in the space between death and safety. He didn't need to look up to know who was there, who had saved him again, but he did anyway.

Jeremy's expression was a mixture of alarm, happiness, fury, relief and displeasure all at once. Michael couldn't help but smile up at it sheepishly, the smile widening to full sincerity as Jeremy giggled despite himself.

He was hauled up to be fully supported just as a crashing splash broke the silence. Squip had landed. The two peered down but could only catch a glimpse of their dark suit before the train whistle cried from the other end of the tracks, barrelling towards the crumpled figure. Michael swallowed roughtly and turned away as Jeremy flew them back up to the bridge, not willing to watch a train plow into a prone form.

The wind rippled around them as they touched down on the bridge again, letting their feet rest comfortably against the wood before releasing them. There was silence for a beat, the audience of workers who Michael had completely forgotten about standing stock still for a moment or two before bursting to life with rigorous applause and cheers, a morbid celebration of the death of a tyrant.

Michael sighed and slumped against Jeremy's hold, exhausted and winding down from the adrenaline shot of literally dragging himself and another person off a fucking bridge. Jeremy ran his fingers through Michael's hair in consolation, instantly calming him. His ribs ached and his head throbbed but it was over  and Michael could only breathe a sigh of relief before he jolted up again. “My moms! I—!”

“They're okay,” Jeremy soothed. “Squips dead, which means all their curses are broken. They should be over the river by now, waiting for you.”

Michael felt his eyes sting with relieved tears. “That means I…”

“You did it. You saved them. You saved everyone.”

Michael was too antsy to stay for the celebrations but did set aside time to hug Chloe and Brooke, shooting Jake a thumbs up as he caught him sneaking down into the boiler room to tell Rich the good news.

Jeremy was waiting for him when he was done, standing at the end of the bridge looking more radiant by the second. He beamed at him and held out his hand for Michael to take, feeling a jolt of nostalgia as Michael was led through the winding market roads and down the stairs, stopping at the edge of the river.

It was a river again, much to Michael’s relief, a small trickle of water running clumsily across a rocky disposition. Jeremy hung back and Michael approached it and kicked at the water streaming down the divots, huffing in reluctant surrender.

“Gods, I was going to ask you for something before you went but… once your feet have touched the water you can't look back at me,” he said with a regretful sigh. Michael moved to glance over his shoulder in protest but was stopped by Jeremy's hand on his cheek. “Seriously, Michael. This world has its rules, even if they're stupid. Once you're over the river keep walking and don't look back until you're at the other end of the tunnel you came in from.” He heard Jeremy shuffled, shifting nervously from foot to foot. “We can still talk a little if you want to, there no rule about that.”

“That’s dumb.”

“I don't make the rules, I just enforce them.” Jeremy chuckled and Michael could practically hear him fidgeting. “I… I want to thank you, Michael. You've done so much for me, for everyone, I don't know what else to even say. You truly are some kind of miracle.”

Michael felt his face burn and instinctively pulled his hood up to hide. “Shut up, Jer. You saved my life so many times. You're literally the moon. You're incredible. I wish you could… come with me.”

“My place is here,” Jeremy replied sadly. “But hey, with Squip out of the picture and me technically being their successor, I guess I run the bathhouse now. There's gonna be a lot of changes, a lot of work. Might be a total disaster but only time can truly tell.”

Michael laughed. “Everyone in that place already loves you, I'm sure with you at the helm shits going to be just fine. You're gonna be fine.”

“I know. So will you.”

“I know.” Michael shuffled his feet towards the other end of the river, not wanting to leave just yet but not quite knowing what to do. “So this is goodbye?”

Jeremy hummed. “I guess so. But just for now. I'm certain we'll see each other again.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I dunno. I guess I just… you… you are everything to me and I know, I just have this feeling. Y'know?”

Michael heart swelled  all thoughts of doubt wiped from his mind. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

He paused before he could take his final steps over the river, a thought coming to him so suddenly he reeled for a moment before he opened his mouth. “Um. Hey Jer?”

“Mhm?”

“It’s a stretch but—” Michael gestured to the river behind him, not daring to turn around and face the world he was leaving behind. “— they said I couldn’t look back and see you, but maybe if I closed my eyes—?”

He was cut off by Jeremy’s excited gasp. "You—! It— that would work, actually! You're a genius, Michael Mell," Jeremy laughed happily, the soft, breathy huff of his voice sending chills down Michael's spine.

Michael licked his lips nervously and let his eyes slide shut, turning to face Jeremy once again. He regretted not being able to see his face one more time. A large price to pay for cheating the system, he supposed. He rolled his bottom lip against his teeth, heart fluttering at Jeremy's audible gulp. "Come on," he whispered into the breeze, leaning forward instinctively. “Please.”

He heard Jeremy shift and held his breath as a pair of soft lips brushed against his and suddenly they were kissing in the divide between their two worlds.

Time stopped as Michael moved against him, swallowing ever shuddering breath and shaky whimper as he licked into Jeremy's mouth and rendered the powerful spirit helpless against him. Jeremy was sweet and soft and pliant, everything Michael dreamt he would be, gripping the front of his hoodie like an anchor as he sighed into Michael's mouth and god he was floating on air. They stayed like that, relishing in each other before they had to come up for air. Michael wished he could have opened his eyes and gazed upon his moon. Michael wished for a lot of things as they held each other, ankle deep the waters of their conflicting worlds and pressed so tightly together it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.

Jeremy was still panting softly when he leaned up to press his forehead against Michael's, cradling his face in his hands like something precious and fragile. "We'll see each other again. One day."

"I’ll be here," Michael murmured, nuzzling his nose against Jeremy's and letting his giggles wash over him like a tide.

"And I’ll be waiting."

Michael stole one more lingering kiss and stepped away, carefully shuffling backwards in the water until his feet hit the grassy lip and he turned around to step up fully into the land of the living. Michael opened his eyes and saw the rolling hills of green, the decrepit shambles of abandoned houses, the ghostly train station in the distance. He breathed a heavy sigh, all of his willpower directed to forcing himself not to turn around.

"I love you," he said into the wind, letting it carry his words into the world he knew was right behind him. He didn't hear the answer but he knew he got one.

He could see his mothers waving at him in the distance, dwarfed by the old train station they entered through what seemed like years ago. Michael sucked in one final breath, tasting the air of the spirit world on the tip of his tongue, and jogged down the hill towards his family.

“Chi-chi, there you are! Worried we lost you. Come, we’re going to be late!”

“Yeah.” His mom had her arm around his inay’s shoulder, squeezing them gently, affectionately. “I’ll bet you any kind of money the movers started without us.”

Michael grinned near manically, feeling a weight lift from the depths of his chest. “Have I ever told you guys how much I love you?”

His inay damn near cackled. “Not in the last 48 hour. You’re missing you quota.”

“Well, I do. I love you guys so, so much.”

His mom reached over to ruffle his hair in the way he used to hate. He finds that he doesn’t mind it as much anymore. “We love you too, my lovely boy. More than life itself. Now come on. All this sappy sudden love stuff is making me hungry.” She turned around and promptly tripped up her own son, running ahead with only a backwards glance and a fleeting yell of, “Race ya!” over her shoulder.

He scrambled after his mother, yelling nonsense about how this wasn’t fair. His inay laughed hysterically in the background, chanting her alternating support for her wife and son.

Michael glanced up as he ran and caught sight of the pale reflection of the moon twinkling in the daylight sky. He blew a quick kiss up at it. It seemed to shine a little brighter, almost bashfully. Michael laughed.


End file.
